The Power of Obsessive Love
by Zhu Yingtai
Summary: “When you’ve seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love.” Nothing can manufacture or imitate love. But could a love potion create the right circumstances for an unlikely love to happen on its own? SLASH HP/LV-T
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters and terms are the exclusive property of J.K. Rowling. This work of related fiction is solely for amusement purposes. It is not associated with Ms. Rowling, Scholastic, or Bloomsbury publishers.

A/N: This fic owes its existence to my amazing beta, Anaria Nothren. It began as a one-shot, posted over at FAP, and she encouraged me to turn it into a chapter length. So I did. This is my first attempt at a chapter-length story, and reviews are appreciated.

Please be aware that this story contains SLASH.

Chapter 1

Harry Potter was absolutely exhausted. His day had started with his having been woken up early by a nightmare as well as his having been unable to get back to sleep. It had continued with Snape's DADA class, where Snape had seemed determined to prove that Harry's "Outstanding" OWL was entirely due to his name and reputation, whilst Harry had been just as determined to prove Snape wrong. Then, he had gone on to Charms class, where Hermione had accidentally conjured a bird with a bad temper. The bird would not stop pecking at him, and she had refused to Vanish it until Professor Flitwick had seen her work. Said professor had been busy cleaning up after one of Neville's all-too-frequent disasters, so the bird was able to continue its vendetta for a good half hour. Lunch had been fine, except that he hadn't really been able to eat much because of the girls who kept harassing him about who he was going to Hogsmeade with that weekend. One of the boldest had given him a pack of Chocolate Cauldrons, and tried to insist that he eat one immediately. He hadn't needed Hermione's hissed warning not to eat them, and had fled from the Great Hall to avoid any further trouble. When he had got to his dormitory, he had realized he still had the Chocolate Cauldrons. He then shrugged and tossed them into his trunk. In the afternoon he'd had Herbology class, in which he had spent two hours wrestling with a Snargaluff tree, and he had plenty of bruises and scrapes to show for it. Then there was a three hour Quidditch practice, the third hour of which had been in the midst of a downpour of cold September rain. When that was over, Harry just didn't feel up to facing the girls he knew would be after him at dinner. So instead he had sneaked up to the prefect's bathroom and took a nice long bath. Dinner was over by the time he had finished, but the bath had made Harry feel so much better that he decided he hadn't minded all that much. Now, at the end of the day, Harry was just starting to relax when he remembered the monstrous essay Professor McGonagall had assigned, on animating objects. It was due tomorrow, and Harry hadn't even begun writing it.

With a sigh, Harry got out his books, quill, and some parchment and sat down to work.

Just as he was settled and about to write his first sentence, Ron and Hermione stepped in through the portrait hole.

"Harry! There you are!" said Hermione. "We were waiting for you in the Great Hall, but you never came down for dinner."

"Sorry," Harry replied. "I just didn't feel up to dealing with everyone down there."

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. Then she noticed the parchment stretched out in front of him. "Homework?" she asked.

"Erm—yeah, that essay for McGonagall."

"_Professor_ McGonagall," Hermione corrected automatically. "And Harry, she assigned that essay three weeks ago! I can't believe you've only just started."

"I know, Hermione, I know. I've just been so busy that I completely forgot about it."

"Well, then, we'll let you get on with it," Hermione said, and then started walking back towards the portrait hole. "I'm going to the library."

Ron looked torn for a moment, glancing back and forth between Harry and Hermione. Then he finally said "I guess you don't want me to bother you, right Harry--you being busy with that essay and all? I think I'll go…um…to the library with Hermione."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and the two went back out the portrait hole.

When they returned two hours later, Harry was still working. Ron smiled, waved, and shouted "Still working on that essay, mate?" Harry nodded, a pain-filled grimace on his face. Ron gave him a sympathetic smile and said "Hope you finish soon. Goodnight." Then he went up the stairs to the boy's dormitory. Hermione came over to Harry's side and looked over his shoulder at the half completed essay.

"Did you mention the law of animate reactions?" she asked.

"Yeah, in the fourth paragraph," Harry answered.

"And the difference between Charming an object to move and Transfiguring it to be animate?"

"I'm just getting to that part now. But I'm not sure I really understand it. Do you think you could explain it to me?"

Hermione sighed. "One of these days, Harry, you'll have to learn to do your homework on your own. Mostly, though, it's just that a Charm will cause the object to move precisely how the caster directs it to, and the object will only be able to react to specific instructions. But an Animated object acts on its own, within a certain set of rules set down by the caster."

"Like those chessmen protecting the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Exactly. Mention that in your essay, I think she'll be flattered that you remembered and gratified that you made the connection."

"Thanks a million, Hermione. I think I might actually be able to finish this essay sometime tonight, now that you've helped."

"Well next time, ask me for help _a week_ before it's due, not one night," Hermione said, but she was smiling at him. "I'm going to go up to bed now. Try not to stay up too late, you already look exhausted."

"I'll go to bed as soon as I'm done with this essay, I promise."

"Good night Harry."

"Good night Hermione."

Harry sighed, wishing that he could just go to bed. But Transfiguration was his first class in the morning, so he was absolutely out of time. At least Hermione had helped. With her advice, it should only take him another two or three hours to finish, and he could be in bed no later than two o'clock. Harry groaned at the thought. "Great," he thought. "I'll be in bed in time to get a whole four hours of sleep! Unless I'm woken up by another nightmare, in which case I'll get a whole two or three hours of sleep." But stropping about it was only delaying the progress of the essay, and therefore the time that Harry could finally get to sleep. Harry went back to the essay with renewed vigour, determined to finish as quickly as possible without writing total crap. He took Hermione up on her suggestion of mentioning the enchanted chessmen, and that brought his essay to three and a half feet of parchment, the minimum requirement for the length of the paper. "Finally!" he thought, as he yawned. He was, by now, utterly exhausted.

As Harry was putting away his school supplies and preparing to go up to bed, he realized that he had yet another problem. He hadn't been able to eat much at lunch, and he hadn't eaten anything for dinner. After a long and tiring day, Harry realized that he was absolutely famished. And he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep easily if he didn't get something to eat.

He considered making an illicit trip to the kitchens, but decided that detention was the last thing he needed in his already hectic schedule. The risk of being caught was too high, especially because he couldn't be certain the house elves wouldn't report him to Professor Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall. He thought about calling Dobby, but quickly realized the elf was most likely asleep, as it was two o'clock in the morning. Luckily, Harry's time with the Dursleys had taught him to be prepared for shortages of food. He always kept a supply of snacks that wouldn't go bad in his trunk. It wasn't the healthiest of food, and it wouldn't really fill him up, but it would be enough to soothe his hunger pangs so that he could get to sleep.

Harry put the completed essay and everything else he would need the next day for class into his school bag. Then he opened his trunk. The trunk was quite a mess inside, with clothes both dirty and clean crumpled up and tangled together, bits of old parchment, broken quills, and other random things scattered throughout. Harry dug around for awhile, the digging made more difficult by the need to keep quiet so as to avoid waking up his roommates. Finally he found a pack of Chocolate Cauldrons. Not his favourite snack, but they would have to do. Harry opened them. He paused for a moment. He thought he remembered there being something wrong with them. He checked the expiration date. They were still fresh. He gave a cautionary sniff, just to be sure. They didn't smell off at all. In fact, they smelled absolutely wonderful. Actually, Harry was pretty sure it was the best thing he had ever smelled. He wondered about that for a moment, but then decided it must be because of his hunger. He shrugged, and bit into the first Cauldron. If he'd thought the smell was wonderful, the taste was even better. He devoured all of the snack cakes, and licked his fingers to make sure he'd gotten every last bit. Hunger assuaged, at least for now, he climbed into his four poster bed and fell into a sound sleep.

Little did he know that his sleep would soon undergo a very rude disruption…a disruption that would affect not only his sleep, but also the fate of the entire world.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers! Updates will be posted about once a week.

Chapter 2

A great feeling of contentment had stolen over Harry, and he slept peacefully for once. That is, until a wrenching sensation came over him, and he found his awareness being pulled away from his sleeping body at Hogwarts to another place--somewhere far away—joining with the consciousness of the man his mind was inexorably linked with, the Dark Lord Voldemort.

This vision wasn't quite like the other visions he'd had of Voldemort. For one thing, they usually only happened when the man was feeling some particularly strong emotion. As far as Harry could tell, Voldemort was simply sitting in an armchair reading a book; though from his perspective, Harry was unable to see the man's face. That led to the second difference. His visions used to take place from a first person perspective with Harry seeing through Voldemort's eyes, or the eyes of Voldemort's snake, Nagini. Now he was looking at Voldemort. Harry considered that for a moment, wondering if it had anything to do with Voldemort's possession of him last June. Perhaps that had opened the link between their minds further, or changed the nature of it somehow. Then Voldemort seemed to notice his presence, and looked up from his book, and Harry got an even bigger surprise.

Voldemort was no longer the nightmarish, half-human apparition he'd been the last time Harry saw him. Gone were the bald skull, the paper-thin, ghostly pale, scaly skin, and the slitted nostrils. In their place were glossy black hair, trimmed neatly, skin that was still pale, but no longer sickly, and a strong aquiline nose. The lips were no longer thin, but rather full, and slightly pink. The skeletal spidery fingers were replaced by strong, masculine hands. All in all, Voldemort was no longer the man Harry saw emerge from the cauldron that fateful night, but the boy he saw emerge from the diary, only a few years older. All except for the eyes. Tom Riddle's had been a cerulean blue, but this man's eyes were scarlet. They were the colour of garnets, Harry thought, or maybe rubies, like the ones used to keep track of Gryffindor's house points. Harry was lost in those eyes, mesmerized by their depths. There was something terribly familiar there, and while deep down, Harry knew he should be afraid and angry, he couldn't find those emotions anywhere in his mind. He felt nothing but awe and attraction, like he had found something he'd been looking for all his life. The man in front of him was his life, his everything. He'd do anything for this man.

"Voldemort," he whispered, his tone reverent and worshipful.

Lord Voldemort, for his part, was thoroughly astonished. He also knew that Potter usually only saw visions when his emotions were running high, and he knew for a fact that he'd been perfectly calm just before Potter appeared. Not to mention the fact that Potter had never appeared in front of him before. He'd have to look into that, later. He frowned slightly. Why wasn't Potter screaming, yelling, or at least trying to get away? Why on earth would Potter be looking at him like that? Lord Voldemort had seen enough looks of pure attraction and mindless devotion to know one when he saw it, but there was no way Potter would ever look at him like that. They were enemies, Potter hated him and it was more than mutual. Lord Voldemort heard Harry whisper his name, and realized instantly that something funny had to be going on. He decided not to waste his time asking the boy any questions, and go straight to the source. He looked back into Potter's eyes, using the eye contact to search through Potter's mind. And what he found intrigued him. Potter was under the influence of a love potion. Not Amortentia, of course, that potion caused an infatuation for the maker of the potion, and Lord Voldemort certainly hadn't been making any for Harry. Amortentia also made the victim act like a total idiot, with loud proclamations of love and a complete inability to function in any sort of normal capacity.

That made it seem like an even more ridiculous idea to Lord Voldemort, but then one who used a love potion usually didn't desire their target for their personality anyway. But the potion used on Potter was one that was weaker, but also far more subtle. It would cause a powerful infatuation with the first person one saw after drinking it. Apparently, Potter must have somehow ingested the potion just before falling asleep. An evil smile came over Voldemort's face. This could be a very useful development. Potter's body here was simply an illusion, a solid one, yes, but he still could not attack it. The same could not be said for the boy's mind. He quickly Obliviated Potter's memory of receiving and eating the spiked chocolate cauldrons.

"Harry," he said, putting on one of his most charming smiles. "I'm so glad you've come to see me."

"You are?" Harry said. "I mean—I didn't think you liked me very much—and you're Him, and I mean, I'm glad to see you, although I'm not sure why, but maybe it's because you're so handsome now—not that you were ugly before! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to suggest that, you were just different, not ugly, and anyway, I'm glad to see you too."

Tom chuckled. This was going to be so easy. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked, gesturing to a black suede armchair, the twin of the one he was sitting in. "I think we have much to discuss."

Harry made his way to the armchair, but he was so focused on staring at Voldemort that he wasn't watching his feet, and stumbled over a coffee table. "Sorry," he mumbled, as he managed to get himself into the offered chair.

"No matter," Tom said. "Now, I think you are likely wondering how I regained my youthful appearance."

"Well, yes," Harry said shyly. "You're the most handsome person I've ever seen—you're even more handsome than when I met you in the Chamber of Secrets, and I thought you were too handsome to be real then."

This statement caused Lord Voldemort to raise his eyebrows internally. The love potion would not have caused Harry to be physically attracted to him initially, which meant that Harry actually did find him attractive when they met in the Chamber. How interesting…

"Let me explain, then. I trust Dumbledore has by now informed you about my Horcruxes?"

"Whore-whatses?! You're not seeing any whores, are you?!"

"Hmm, I suppose not then. That's somewhat surprising. Has he even told you about the prophecy?"

"He has," Harry said softly. "But I can't tell anyone what it says, not even Ron or Hermione, not even you."

"We'll discuss that another time. Back to the subject at hand, a Horcrux—**H**-O-R-C-R-U-X-- is a way for a wizard to ensure his own immortality."

"Like the Philosopher's Stone? But how does it work?"

"A wizard, and mind this will only work for a powerful wizard, prepares a special object to hold a piece of his soul. He then commits a murder in cold blood. This action splits the soul in two, and the wizard then puts one of the pieces into the prepared object. This object is now a Horcrux, and it keeps the soul anchored in this plane of existence. Thus, even if the wizard's body is killed, his soul does not depart, and therefore he cannot truly be killed."

"I'm very glad that you can't ever be killed. I wish you hadn't killed someone, though."

Voldemort shrugged. "Their sacrifice was necessary. I honour their deaths." That last was a lie, of course, but it would placate Harry somewhat.

"If you didn't have Horcruxes, you would have died that night in Godric's Hollow, right?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Voldemort said simply.

"Then I'm glad you had them. I wouldn't want you to be dead."

Then Harry's face took on a rueful expression. "Are you mad at me for what happened that night?"

"No." That was an even bigger lie.

"You are. I can tell. My scar doesn't hurt as much as it used to, but it still hurts when you're close to me and really angry, you know. I didn't mean to do it. I had no idea it would happen, I mean, I was just a baby, I didn't have any control over it. I've spent the past five years telling people that, but you--you were there, I thought _you_ at least would know. You're way too powerful to actually be defeated by a baby. I'm sorry for what happened, but it really wasn't my fault."

Tom forced himself to calm down. His anger would not serve him now, and he could allow himself to feel it later. "It is...all right now. I was prepared for the possibility, and so the worst was prevented."

Harry smiled. "So the Horcruxes kept you from dying, even though you were hit with a killing curse. What do they have to do with how you look?"

"I made my first Horcrux when I was 16 years old. That was the diary that possessed Ginny Weasely, and that you battled in the Chamber of Secrets—"

"Oh my goodness!" Harry interrupted. "I killed a part of your soul! I'm so, so sorry, I swear I didn't know what it was, I never would have done it if I'd known, oh, I'm sorry, so sorry—"

"Enough! This conversation will never go anywhere if we keep stopping to apologize for every wrong we've done to each other." Of course, Harry was the only one apologizing, but Lord Voldemort was hardly going to point that out.

"You're right, of course. You're so brilliant! You're always right, and I'll never be as smart as you are."

"That's true. Though you are not exactly stupid, yourself. Back to the point, I made my second Horcrux when I was 19 years old. This one was made from an heirloom locket necklace, a locket that belonged to Salazar Slytherin. Therefore the piece of soul in the locket remained 19 years old, as it was not within my aging body."

Voldemort paused for a moment to take a sip of his drink. Harry couldn't tell exactly what it was, but it looked like some sort of alcohol. Voldemort noticed Harry looking at his drink. "I'd offer you something, but as you aren't really physically here, I'm afraid I can't."

"That's all right. But, about the locket Horcrux, it sounds like you're going to say that your 19 year old soul re-entered your body, making you look 19 again. Doesn't that mean that you no longer have that Horcrux?"

"Very good, Harry. That's correct. The Horcrux I made from Slytherin's locket indeed no longer exists. It used to be kept in a cave, a cave by the seaside, protected by all sorts of spells and enchantments. I thought it would be inviolable, but I was proven wrong. A few months ago, the wards alerted me to someone breaking into the cave. I apparated there immediately, and found a man there attempting to destroy the Horcrux. I incapacitated and bound him instantly, of course, but I was too late. The Horcrux was not, fortunately, destroyed entirely, but it was irreparably damaged. The only way to save that piece of my soul was to take it into my body. The man who attempted to destroy it was an agent of the Order of the Phoenix. He did not admit that readily, but I tortured him until he told me everything he knew. From him I learned that Dumbledore knows something of my Horcruxes. He will likely tell you about them soon. Remember to act surprised."

"With two Horcruxes destroyed, does that mean you could die now?" Harry looked terrified at the thought.

"Not at all," Voldemort said confidently. "I am still well safeguarded against mortality."

"How many Horcruxes do you have?"

"Enough. Do not worry about me."

"Can I ask you one more thing?" Harry said quietly.

"You may ask, though I will not guarantee an answer."

"You've tried to kill me before. I think we're supposed to be enemies. Why aren't you attacking me?"

"At this moment, your physical body is still several hundred miles away from me. The physical form you have here is an illusion, albeit a solid illusion, but as I mentioned, you are unable to consume anything, and I am unable to harm you." Well, not your body anyway, Voldemort thought.

"Is that the only reason?"

"No, it is not the only reason."

"What other reason or reasons do you have?"

"Perhaps I will tell you another time. Right now, I think it's time for your awareness to be returning to your bed in Hogwarts. Your alarm will be ringing in about ten minutes, and I doubt you would like to cause your roommates undue panic when they are unable to wake you."

"But I don't want to leave you!"

"I know, but it is necessary. You must have your education, after all."

"If you say so. When will I see you again?"

"Soon. Within two weeks, I'm sure."

"Two whole weeks?"

"We are both busy, and we cannot arouse suspicion by meeting too frequently."

"But why would it matter if anyone suspected?"

"Dumbledore does not want us to be together. He will stop at nothing to keep us apart. You must be very careful not to speak of this to anyone. Dumbledore has eyes and ears everywhere at Hogwarts, and if he has even the slightest suspicion, he will make sure that we do not ever see each other again. He would try to kill me, and he might try to kill you, too. And do not ever look into his eyes. You know of Legilimency, and you know that Dumbledore is a master of the art, though of course not as gifted as myself. Guard yourself around Snape, as well. His loyalty is ultimately mine, but his grudge against you could lead him to do something foolish."

"I'll keep it a secret. I won't tell anyone, or allow anyone to find out. I promise you, Lord Voldemort."

"You will also have to pretend to hate me."

"What? Why!?"

"You know of my reputation in the wizarding community. If you do not pretend to share that opinion, you will be suspected."

"All right then. I can pretend. But why does everyone hate you so much?"

"I am great. Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite festers into hate."

"Oh. Like Ron, when he thought I'd put my own name in the Goblet of Fire."

"Exactly," he said, though he actually had no real idea what Harry was talking about. "Remember, be cautious. If Dumbledore talks to you, remember everything he says so that you may tell me. And Harry…"

"Yes?"

"You may call me Tom." And with that, the Dark Lord gently nudged Harry Potter's consciousness back to where it rightfully belonged.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you to my reviewer, Xenia Marvolo! Updates will continue weekly, regardless of review count, but more reviews would make me happy. :) Happy Reading!

After Potter had "returned" to Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort relaxed in his chair, mulling over the events of the past hour. Harry Potter--the Boy-Who-Lived; the Golden Boy; the Chosen One; his mortal enemy and prophesied challenger; the only one who could ever defeat him--was now deeply infatuated with him. The very thought made him want to howl with laughter. He settled for a slight chuckle, though, as he was always very careful never to show any strong emotion. He was alone, of course, but he'd been in the habit of never allowing anything to show for so long that he wasn't certain he was even capable of howling with laughter anymore. It required something unusually funny to even call forth a small chuckle from him. Well, this certainly fit the bill

He wondered which one of the silly chits at Hogwarts he had to thank for this golden opportunity. He hadn't looked at Potter's memory carefully enough to know. Ginevra Weasley had greatly admired the boy while he had possessed her, and the boy had seemed oblivious to her affections. No, not oblivious. Even the most idiotic of boys could hardly escape noticing a girl who was unable to speak in his presence. She'd even made the effort to send the idiot a Valentine as well! It had failed miserably, of course, and had only served to embarrass her in front of the entire school. Though Harry had been aware of her affections, he had ignored her, almost to the point of cruelty. Had little Ginny sunk even deeper into the dangerous waters of obsession?

Somehow, he didn't think so. She had never tried to fool herself about Harry's feelings, and he didn't think she would be able to live with herself if she knew that Harry only fancied her because of a love potion. She would win his affections fairly or not have them at all. He snorted at this example of Gryffindor fair play. Such a sense of honour had always allowed him to triumph over the Gryffindors during his own school days, and it seemed little had changed. But the potion-giver must have been someone else. Perhaps even a Slytherin girl? Underhanded tactics were far more characteristic of his house. He hadn't the faintest idea who it could be, but he'd heard from Lucius, who had heard from his son, Draco, that Harry had a flock of female admirers who vied desperately for his attention. That reminded him of his own time at Hogwarts, when admirers both male and female had fought constantly for the right to sit next to him, or walk to class with him, or other small opportunities to bask in his presence. He, unlike Potter, had taken advantage of it, and used their attraction to bind them to his will. And now he had the chance to do the same thing to Potter. Salazar, Fate must truly be smiling upon him!

Though he couldn't be sure exactly what potion Potter had been given, he rather thought it was Erodition. It was a simpler potion to produce than Amortentia, which meant that it couldreasonably have been within the potion-making skills of a student. It was also far more subtle, though over time almost equally dangerous. This potion caused a deep infatuation, one that would not fade with time. It required an antidote for its effects to be nullified. The girl who gave him the potion must have been fully confident in her looks, and her ability to get Potter to immediately consume whatever food or drink she had concealed the potion in. While Amortentia smelled of whatever a person was attracted to, Erodition simply emitted a pleasing aroma that subtly encouraged a person to consume it. It caused infatuation with the first person one laid eyes on after drinking it, but it only worked if there was already a physical attraction. The potion worked by building on the spark of physical attraction in order to create a stronger emotion. He wondered if the Potter boy was even aware of being attracted to men, and if the boy was attracted to men exclusively. It could explain why his female admirers, including the ardent Miss Weasley, had all failed. Not that it really mattered to the current situation.

How fortuitous that this encounter had happened after the Horcrux incident had given him back his old face! He was fairly certain that Potter hadn't felt even the smallest bit of physical attraction to the scaly face that had been his before the incident. If he had to lose a Horcrux, well, at least he was being offered some recompense! And even though Dumbledore knew of his Horcruxes, the ones that remained were safe, he was sure of it. He didn't lose anything by telling Potter of them. Dumbledore knew, and the old fool would certainly confide in his little pawn soon enough. Telling Potter would make the boy trust in him, especially knowing that Lord Voldemort had given information that Dumbledore would not. The pawn was no longer in Dumbledore's hands.

Yes, this was the perfect opportunity. He would lead Harry on, pretending to return his affections. Harry would eventually tell him everything, even things his spy Severus was unable to tell. Harry would tell him everything about the idiots in the Order of the Phoenix. The old fool, Dumbledore, trusted Harry implicitly, and would likely share his plans with the boy, who would then tell him. Though he could use Legilimency to simply take the information from Potter's mind, that would be a terribly time-consuming process. Legilimency to find one answer was simple--as it typically only required accessing one memory. However, using it to find a block of information was decidedly more difficult, and it was far easier to miss crucial details. Each person had a different way of organizing their mind; it was a way unique to them, and one that only he or she could understand and use. So while accessing memories out of your own mind was simple, finding all of a person's knowledge and memories about a subject was extremely difficult. Coercion was generally a far easier way to do that. Not to mention how delicious it would be to have Potter willingly give him the information he needed to destroy the child. He would even finally get the full prophecy. No, he wouldn't be repeating that mistake. He would hear the whole prophecy before attempting to kill Potter again.

He wondered if he could get Potter to take the Dark Mark. He rather thought that he could. Indeed, he could train Potter to become his most powerful and loyal follower. Though he hated to admit it, the boy was powerful, maybe even as powerful as he himself was. But Potter lacked focus. On his own, he would never come into his rightful power. Or rather, as Dumbledore's pawn, he would never come into his rightful power. Perhaps the old fool was unsure of his ability to keep Potter under control if the boy should ever realize just how much power he held.

Lord Voldemort felt no such uncertainty. He would encourage Potter to put more effort into his studies. And he would train the boy himself. Just the fact that Lord Voldemort was teaching him to fulfil his potential would further cement the boy's loyalty to him. Potter would help him in his pursuit of control of the Wizarding world. Potter would lie for him. Potter would steal for him. Potter would torture for him. Potter would kill for him. And when he had accomplished his goals, when Dumbledore was dead and the Wizarding world lay at his feet, he would kill Potter.

His first thought was to give Potter the antidote to the love potion a few minutes before killing him, and to watch as the horror of everything he had done fell into those green eyes. Yes, it would be brilliant to watch as Potter struggled to retain his sanity after the realization came. Perhaps it would break the boy entirely.

He frowned at that thought. There was little pleasure in tormenting or killing the insane. As he had told Potter two years ago in the graveyard, he wanted to see the light leave those green eyes. Eyes the same colour as the curse that had bound their minds together, the colour of the curse that would eventually kill the boy.

Perhaps instead he would allow Potter to spend the rest of his life under the influence of the potion. This potion would never wear off; in fact its hold only tightened with time. So if he was never given an antidote, he would never stop believing that he loved Lord Voldemort. It would also be terribly delicious to watch Potter's eyes as he realized that he was going to be killed by his 'beloved.' Potter would spend his last moments in recrimination, wondering how he had failed the man he loved, and would die believing he deserved it.

To give Potter the antidote at the end, or not? Both plans had their potential benefits, and the matter deserved consideration. A feral smile came over his face. He certainly had plenty of time to think on it.


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter is now betaed, thanks to the amazing work of Anaria Nothren. :)

Chapter 4

Harry awoke the following morning feeling much better than he had the day before. Despite the fact that he was sure he hadn't slept much, he felt like he had more energy than he'd ever had before in his life. How could he ever have hated Lord Voldemort? The man was brilliant, powerful, witty, and beautiful. Why would anyone hate him? He supposed Lord Voldemort—Tom—was right. People hated him because they were jealous of him. He had the power and the nerve to go after what he wanted, and people who lacked those things were envious.

He went about his day as usual, attending classes, eating meals, and continuing his normal routine--though he couldn't quite keep a silly smile off his face. He remembered, though, to look angry whenever someone mentioned "You-Know-Who." The week continued as all weeks at Hogwarts did. Actually, it was probably less interesting than Harry's weeks at Hogwarts usually were, as he was no longer worried about being killed by Lord Voldemort. But his thoughts were still quite busy, and still very much centred on the Dark Lord.

Could Lord Volde—Tom really like him? Harry supposed that he could, maybe. He certainly wouldn't let just anyone call him by the name he was given at birth. Maybe he just thought it didn't matter, since Harry already knew his birth name. But even Dark Lords get tired of always fighting, right?

It could just be a strategic move. Harry was, according to the prophecy, the only one who could kill the Dark Lord. So if Tom made nice with Harry, Harry would no longer want to kill Tom. If Harry didn't want to kill Tom, Tom wouldn't die. So Tom might just be acting nice so that Harry would never kill him.

The more Harry thought about it, the more that explanation made sense. And it explained why Tom did not even attempt to attack him. There was only one problem.

Harry didn't want Tom to see him as an enemy to be placated. He didn't want Tom to treat him kindly out of fear. He wanted Tom to see him as a—well, he wasn't sure exactly what he wanted his relationship with Tom to be, but he knew he wanted more than what he had. He wanted Tom to actually like him, to care about him.

So how would one go about impressing the Dark Lord, anyway? It wasn't something he'd ever needed to consider before. Maybe he could ask Draco? No, of course not, that was a stupid idea. Draco couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it, and Tom had said to tell no one. Not to mention the fact that Draco Malfoy hated him and would sooner kiss a blast-ended skrewt than aid Harry in any way. Harry thought about asking Hermione, the person he generally fell back on when he needed advice, then laughed, picturing her reaction. No, he couldn't ask anyone for advice. He would have to figure this out on his own.

So how could he get Tom to like him? Well, Tom was smart, right? He'd been Head Boy at Hogwarts, and had gotten more OWLs than Hermione. Harry couldn't go back and change his own OWL scores, but he could pay more attention to his studies. Yes, that was a good idea. Tom was a master of so many fields of magic; he could never like someone who hadn't even mastered the Hogwarts curriculum. Harry vowed to start putting far more effort into his studies. He had a Potions class in an hour, so he decided to do something he had never done before. He got out his notes from the previous lesson to read over. Then he realized exactly how poorly he'd done in his note-taking. The notes were messy and disorganized, not something he could study from. He pictured Hermione's neatly written notes, with colour-coordinated highlighter. Maybe he wouldn't go that far, but he would put a lot more effort into it. Since his notes wouldn't be of any help, he decided to read the chapter in the textbook about the potion they would be studying in class. He read the chapter carefully, making detailed notes, and looking up words he didn't understand. Neither Professor Snape nor Professor Slughorn had ever made them answer the study questions at the end of the chapter, but Hermione often did, just so she could be certain she knew and understood everything. Harry decided to take up that practice, too.

Potions class went phenomenally well. Harry found himself answering questions along with Hermione. The lesson was one in theory, not practice, so Professor Slughorn spent most of the class lecturing. Harry found that having prepared for class by reading the text (as all of their teachers told them to do, but no one except Hermione and some Ravenclaws actually did) made it far easier to understand the lecture, and therefore far easier to take organized notes. He decided to keep up this practice, not only in Potions, but for all of his classes.

After two weeks of this, his teachers had all noticed the change in Harry Potter's academic habits. His marks had improved dramatically, and he found that homework didn't take as long as it used to, since he actually understood everything discussed in class, and his notes were well organized. Understanding the theory of the spells made it far easier to actually perform them in class, in fact he was usually able to do it on the first or second try. This meant that he wasn't given any additional homework in order to help him understand the spell. The Quidditch team, of which Harry was Captain this year, was less than pleased with Harry's newfound academic fervour, but Harry didn't care. Being good at Quidditch wouldn't impress Tom.

Two weeks after his first meeting with Tom, Professor Dumbledore sent Harry a note asking him to come to the Headmaster's Office on Wednesday, the following day, at six o'clock in the evening. Harry assumed it must be for the private lessons Professor Dumbledore had mentioned on their way to enlist Professor Slughorn that summer evening.

That evening, Harry fell asleep after a full day of classes, only to once again feel his awareness being pulled away. He found himself back in Tom's study. Tom was in exactly the same place Harry had left him, lounging lazily and yet still somehow elegantly in the black suede armchair.

"Good evening, Harry," Tom greeted.

"Good evening—erm—Tom?" Harry said awkwardly.

"I was not lying when I said you had permission to use my birth name. It is a privilege I only grant you, Harry. Now, sit down please."

Harry moved again to the chair opposite Tom's, managing to avoid the table this time. He knew he would never come close to Tom's grace and poise, but that didn't mean he had to be a total klutz.

"Have you been well since our last meeting?" Tom asked.

"Um—fine. I missed you, though."

"I've missed you too. You didn't haven't told anyone about our meeting, have you?"

"Of course not!" Harry said vehemently. "You told me not to! Why would I do anything you directly told me not to do?"

"Why indeed," Tom said dryly. "Some of my followers might benefit from such wisdom."

"Erm—how about you? Are all your…er…plans going well?"

"Tomorrow's Daily Prophet should tell you that," Tom answered with a pleased smile. "Remember to look angry when you see it."

"I never forget. I've been very careful. Whenever someone mentions your name, I stop whatever I'm doing and glare at them. Well, not your name, since no one says your name, but 'you-know-who' or whatever."

"Very good, Harry. The Sorting Hat was right about you, my little serpent."

Ordinarily being called a snake would have caused Harry to hex whomever said it with a hex that would be extremely painful and difficult to remove. But coming from Tom, it was a compliment, and a very flattering one at that, and Harry's cheeks turned red from pleased embarrassment rather than anger.

Tom noted Harry's blush, and decided to use that nickname frequently.

Harry seemed to have a thought, as his head shot up quickly. "How did you know what the Sorting Hat said to me? I never told anyone but Professor Dumbledore about that."

"Never intentionally, but Severus has been inside your head, and he reported all the interesting things he found to me. Knowing that you nearly ended up in Slytherin caused Severus no small amount of indignation."

"Imagine how he would have felt if I actually had agreed with the Hat."

"Never mind Severus, imagine the expression on Dumbledore's face had you become a Slytherin."

Harry and Tom both smiled at this thought.

"Now, Harry, as much as I enjoy spending time with you, I'm afraid I didn't call you here just for the pleasure of your company. I need a favour from you."

"Anything!" Harry responded immediately.

"I want you to tell me everything you know about Hogwarts." Tom didn't really need Harry to do any such thing, of course. Tom had explored Hogwarts quite thoroughly in his time, and knew all of the castle's secrets. This was meant as more of a test, to see if Harry would attempt to hold any information back. And perhaps the boy knew of a secret passage or two that he didn't. That could also be useful.

It turned out that Harry knew quite a lot about Hogwarts. Tom grudgingly admitted to himself that Harry might know Hogwarts as well as he did. Over the next four hours, Harry had gone in order from the bottom of the castle to the top, describing each room of the castle, what it was used for, and what, if any, secret passages could be accessed from it. Apparently, Harry had at some point read "Hogwarts, A History," because Harry's descriptions included information such as who had charmed the ceiling in the Great Hall, the histories of many of the castle's ghosts, and the lives of the people who were immortalized in paintings and statues. At least he hadn't found out the history of the Grey Lady. Tom also found out that the broom cupboard on the fifth floor was no longer used for illicit snogging, as it had become too well known, and that there were now five locations used for that purpose. Each House had its own special place, and there was one used almost exclusively for inter-House couples. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs both had empty broom cupboards. Ravenclaws had an empty classroom. Slytherins had an empty room in the dungeons, the original purpose of which no one really knew. Tom wasn't sure he wanted to know how Harry had found out where Slytherins went to snog.

"And inter-House couples use the Room of Requirement," Harry said. "And that's all I know about the castle itself. On the grounds of the castle, there's the Whomping Willow, a tree that attacks anyone who comes too near. It's actually very easy to get past, though, you simply have to press a knot on the trunk, and then the tree freezes and you can get to the secret—"

Tom hadn't been listening to what Harry was saying. After he heard the words "Room of Requirement," he'd stopped paying attention. His thoughts were centred on whether or not it was the same room he'd found during his time at Hogwarts, where he'd hidden Rowena's diadem.

"Harry," Tom interrupted. "What did you just say?"

"The Whomping Willow? I thought you knew about that, wouldn't Pettigrew have told you? It was planted when Remus Lupin first came to—"

"No, no, no, of course I know all about the Whomping Willow! The Room of Requirement, you didn't mention it before. Tell me about it."

"I didn't? I could have sworn I talked about it. Well, it's on the fifth floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, you know, the one of him trying to teach trolls ballet. To get into it, you have to walk past the door three times, concentrating on what you need. Then the door will appear, and when you go inside, the Room will have whatever you asked for. We used it in my fifth year for DA practises."

"You told me everything about the castle, even about the snogging rooms, but you dared to omit the most interesting and powerful room in all of Hogwarts?!" Tom yelled.

"I'm sorry! I didn't leave it out on purpose, I told you, I thought I'd already talked about it. It's just that I've just been talking so long, and I tried to keep everything organized by picturing the castle in my head, and all the rooms and doors, and I guess I didn't think of the door to the Room because it isn't always there!"

Tom immediately calmed down. Frightening Harry would not help to advance his plans. "It's all right, Harry. I believe you. I do not think you intentionally left it out of your description."

"It sounds like you know about the Room, too."

"Yes, I found it in my fifth year, when I was looking for somewhere to be alone." Tom paused for a moment, uncertain of whether he should tell Harry more. Then he realized that if Harry knew of the Room, Dumbledore knew of the Room, and that meant his Horcrux was no longer safe there.

"Harry, I must ask you for another favour, and this one is vitally important."

"I told you, Tom, anything."

"You were left a house elf by your godfather, Sirius Black, is that correct?"

"Yes, but he doesn't like me very much."

"Whether or not the elf likes you is immaterial. Does he accept you as his Master?"

"He's not happy about it, but yes."

"Where is the elf now?"

"I told him to work in the kitchens at Hogwarts. Why, do you need a house elf?"

"No, Harry, I do not need a house elf. I have several of my own. But I need you to retrieve something for me, and your house elf will be able to bring it from you to me."

"What is it?"

"Another one of my Horcruxes. The diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw."

"The lost diadem? How did you find it?" Harry asked, grateful that he had read about the object last week. He would have hated to have to ask what it was like a total ignoramus.

"Do you know the ghost of Ravenclaw House?"

"The Grey Lady? I've seen her, but we've never spoken. I don't think Hermione's mentioned anything about her past," Harry answered, hating that he didn't know.

"I became well acquainted with her during my time at Hogwarts. In life, she was Helena Ravenclaw, Rowena's daughter, and she stole the diadem. I was able to convince her to tell me where she had hidden it."

"So you found it—in Albania, maybe, since Dumbledore said you went there when you were younger, and made it into a Horcrux. Then you hid it at Hogwarts, in the Room, I suppose, and you need me to get it for you?"

Voldemort was impressed, despite himself. Had the boy always been this sharp? "Exactly correct. I believe you will be able to locate it by the simple expedient of telling the Room that you need to find it."

"Will Kreacher—my house elf, I mean—be able to find you?"

"Yes. House elves often run such errands for their masters."

"Good. I'll get it and send it to you tomorrow. After all, you said Dumbledore knows about your Horcruxes, and if he knows about them he must be trying to destroy them. Dumbledore was the one who told me about the Room in the first place, well, told me in his typical mysterious way, so he must know about it too, and that means he could possibly find the diadem."

"Once again, exactly right. Thank you, Harry."

Harry blushed again and murmured something self-deprecating. Then his eyes lit up. "Oh! I've just remembered something. Dumbledore said he wants to give me private lessons this year. He hasn't told me exactly what he wants to teach me, but I guess it's probably things to help me…well…you know."

"Vanquish me?" Tom said, with an aristocratic eyebrow raised mockingly.

"Yeah, that. Anyway, my first lesson with him is tomorrow evening."

"It will not hurt you to learn what he has to teach you. Just remember not to look into his eyes."

"Of course. Even if we hadn't met up, I wouldn't want him seeing my thoughts." Harry yawned widely, then looked down sheepishly.

"I see that it is time for you to return to true sleep. Study hard tomorrow, my little serpent. Remember, knowledge is power."

After Harry's awareness had left the room, Tom added quietly in Parseltongue, "§And power corrupts.§"


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks again to all reviewers! Getting a new review always makes my day!

Chapter 5

Harry went down to breakfast the next morning to find several students gathered around Hermione and her copy of the Daily Prophet, all with sombre looks on their faces. "What happened?" Harry asked quietly.

"It's Lord Voldemort," Hermione answered, ignoring the gasps resulting from her use of the Dark Lord's name. "He raided Azkaban and released all the Death Eaters there, along with several other prisoners. We think those must have been the ones who agreed to join him. The rest of the prisoners were Kissed by the dementors. When the aurors arrived, they were outnumbered three to one, and all twenty of them were tortured and killed."

Harry gave Hermione a comforting hug, although it was really a pretence so that he could get close enough to whisper in her ear. "Was it anyone we knew?"

"Kingsley and Hestia," Hermione whispered back before releasing Harry from the hug.

That must be what Tom had meant last night. Outwardly, Harry looked furious, and he viciously stabbed at his kippers without eating a bite. Inwardly, Harry was sad that it had to happen, but really, it could all stop if people would just see reason and give Tom what he wanted.

Harry managed to maintain his façade of outrage most of the day, even yelling at other students who dared to look cheerful around him. It wasn't a reasonable thing to do, after all, they hadn't known any of the aurors involved, but it was in keeping with what Harry Potter would normally do. And his bad mood would give him an excuse for solitude, which he would need to retrieve the Horcrux.

After the morning's Defence and Charms class, when Ron and Hermione were headed to lunch, Harry quietly told them that he wanted to be alone for a while, and that he'd go to the kitchens for something to eat during the afternoon free period. His friends seemed to buy the excuse, as they shared a knowing glance between them, and Ron said "Sure thing, mate. We'll catch up with you later." Harry watched long enough to be sure they were actually going to the Great Hall, then turned and headed for the Room of Requirement. When he arrived in the hallway, he walked back and forth three times, thinking "I need to find Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem." The door to the Room appeared, and Harry went in. "I need the room to be private," he thought, and watched as the door disappeared. Then he looked around at the Room.

Apparently the Room of Requirement was a popular place for hiding illicit materials. Harry saw some empty sherry bottles that he was fairly certain belonged to Professor Trelawney, some muggle cigarettes, and some objects that reeked of darkness. It was an absolutely huge room, and every inch of it was covered with objects hidden by a thousand years worth of Hogwarts students. It was a muggle archaeologist's dream come true. But Harry wasn't interested in the history that could be uncovered in this room. He was looking for one particular object, and it seemed like it could take days, weeks even, to find it.

Then he frowned slightly as he thought of something. This Horcrux had a piece of Tom's soul in it. Harry's scar had always reacted to the presence of Lord Voldemort, and the Horcrux was a part of Lord Voldemort. Idly, Harry wondered why his scar no longer pained him when he was in the man's presence. Actually, it tingled rather pleasantly. Well, whatever the reason, Harry was grateful. He concentrated on his scar, and was not surprised to find that he could feel a very faint tingle there. He moved to the right, and the tingle grew fainter. So he turned back and moved to the left, and sure enough, the tingle grew stronger. He used this method of "hot and cold" until the tingle grew almost as strong as it did when he was next to Tom, and looked down to see the diadem resting atop an old ugly bust. "Kreacher!" Harry bellowed.

Almost instantly, the grotesque house elf appeared at Harry's side. "What is Master wanting? Filthy half blood that he is."

"I have a job for you, Kreacher, and it is very important."

"Kreacher is doing whatever Master asks, the unworthy scum," the elf said resentfully.

Harry picked up the diadem and handed it to Kreacher. "Take this to Lord Voldemort," he said. "And do not let anyone see you go or leave. Never speak of this to anyone. Keep it an absolute secret."

Kreacher's eyes widened, and he said, "Kreacher is doing what Master says," but this time quietly, and almost respectfully. "Is Master wanting Kreacher to return when he is finished?"

"No. Return to the kitchens when you are finished. I have my own way of knowing whether or not you have done as I asked."

Kreacher bowed, then disappeared with a crack.

About three minutes later, Harry felt through his scar that Tom was exceedingly pleased.

Harry left the Gryffindor common room for his meeting with Dumbledore at a quarter to 7:00. It probably wouldn't take him fifteen minutes to get to the Headmaster's office, but he wouldn't want to be late, and his nerves couldn't stand waiting any longer. He arrived at the gargoyle that guarded the entrance, and said "Skiving Snackboxes" in a clear voice. The gargoyle moved aside, and Harry stepped onto the moving stair case with no small amount of trepidation.

He was unable to cover his case of nerves entirely, but decided that he could play it off as nervousness about his ultimate task, the destruction of the Dark Lord. That was what they were meeting to discuss, after all, and this task would be enough to make anyone nervous, let alone a 16 year old boy who just learned five years ago that magic even existed.

Harry knocked on the door to the office and was bid to enter. He did so quietly, putting a tentative smile on his face.

"Good evening, Harry," the Headmaster greeted. His blue eyes were twinkling behind half-moon glasses.

"Good evening, sir," Harry responded, being careful to avoid meeting the gaze of his Professor, though attempting to do so subtly. He wasn't sure how well he was doing at being subtle. He knew he'd need to learn Occlumency, and soon.

Apparently his subterfuge was working, at least for the time being. "How are you feeling, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, seeming concerned.

"Scared, I guess," Harry muttered, dropping his eyes in a semblance of shame at admitting to such a thing. "I just can't stop thinking about what the prophecy said. I don't want to die, sir," Harry said softly.

"Ah, I see. Then you understand now, I hope, my reasons for keeping the prophecy from you for so long."

"Well…yeah, I suppose…but I'm still glad you finally told me. Now that I know, I can at least try to be prepared. Will you be helping me to prepare, sir?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"So you'll be teaching me more advanced and powerful spells?" Harry asked, trying to seem hopeful but still diffident.

"No. Lord Voldemort, to be frank, is far more experienced than you are. In a contest decided simply by magical skill and power, you would come off second best. He has had almost sixty years—forty-five, I suppose, since we can hardly count the years he spent as a bodiless spirit—to study magic, and he has taken measures that no decent wizard would ever consider to ensure his own power. You do not have the time to catch up, as it were, and so we will not even attempt it. Instead, we will be examining the life of Lord Voldemort, a retrospective, if you will. In examining his past, we may learn of his weaknesses, and thus find the way to destroy him."

"If I'm not strong enough or experienced enough to defeat him, sir," Harry said, trying to keep his anger out of his voice, "then how can I ever hope to complete this task?"

"Do not fall into the same trap the young Tom Riddle did, Harry. Do not assume that magical power is the only thing that matters in the world. There are things Tom Riddle has never understood, and has therefore always discounted. These are the tools you can use to defeat him, and already have used in your past victories."

"I understand, sir," Harry said meekly, though inside he was feeling anything but meek. True, he hadn't been the best student in the past, and he probably could be a lot more advanced now if he had put more effort into his studies, but he _was_ trying now, which Dumbledore had to be aware of, being the Headmaster and all. Did Dumbledore think Harry would be able to defeat Lord Voldemort with an 'Expelliarmus' and some blind luck? And except for the incident in Godric's Hollow, Harry wouldn't exactly call his encounters with Voldemort 'victories.' They were generally stalemates, at best. And the time when he was one year old hadn't been his own effort, it had been entirely because of his mother.

"Good," said Dumbledore, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "Have you told anyone else about the prophecy?"

"No one, sir," Harry replied quietly. "I thought the fewer people who knew, the better."

"A wise decision, in general. However, should you wish to unburden yourself to a younger pair of ears, I believe Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley would be trustworthy.

Now, I believe you will recognize this?" Dumbledore asked, pulling a stone basin etched with runes from a cupboard.

"Yes, sir. It's a Pensieve."

"Very good, Harry. We will be making use of this device to examine the memories of some of Tom Riddle's associates, thus giving us a picture of Lord Voldemort's formative years."

They were going to look at old memories to discover how a small boy had become the darkest wizard in history. Harry rather thought this would be something to leave to the historians when the war was over. Did it matter why Tom Riddle had become Lord Voldemort? He was what he was, and Harry's presumed task was to stop him. Had Harry still been planning on killing Voldemort, he would likely have said something, but as it was, he was content to let Dumbledore have his way. So "yes, sir," was all he said.

"We will begin with a memory I obtained from a muggle named Amy Benson. She lived at the same orphanage as Tom Riddle when she was a child. This memory happened when they were both eight years old." With that, Dumbledore uncapped a small vial, and poured the contents into the Pensieve. "After you, Harry," he said.

Harry pushed his head forward into the Pensieve and entered a rather dismal scene. He was standing next to a small girl with blond hair and blue eyes, who was peering out from a hidden spot behind a curtain. She was looking out on a large room in a grey walled cement building. Mould covered the walls, and the floor was unrelieved concrete. The room held twenty beds, ten on each side of the room with a small aisle in the middle. The beds each had a dingy mattress, if a pad about 4 inches thick could really be called a mattress. Each bed also had a small pillow and a thin, moth-eaten blanket. At the foot of every bed was a small trunk with the name of the child who owned it. Harry easily spotted the trunk marked "Tom Riddle," and the boy who owned the trunk sitting on his bed. The young Tom Riddle was an adorable child, and in looking at the boy one could easily see the handsome man he would become. He was dressed in a cotton pair of trousers and a wool jumper, both garments somewhat threadbare, and his clothing did not seem sufficient for the December chill in the air.

Tom glanced out the window, and Harry went to see what Tom was looking at. The room must have been on the second floor of the building, as Tom was looking down at the play yard. He watched as children of various ages, all dressed as shabbily as Tom, ran around playing various games, shouting and laughing happily. Tom snorted angrily, then turned away from the window. While Tom was looking out the window, the girl had come out from behind the curtain and walked over to the bed.

"Hi, Tom. What are you looking at?" she said, batting her eyelashes.

"What are you doing here, Amy?" Tom asked sharply.

"I just saw you looking out the window from downstairs. You looked so sad, and I thought you might want to come outside and play with us," she said sweetly.

Harry noticed, though, that the girl's smile did not seem to reach her eyes, and her saccharine tone reminded him of Professor Umbridge.

Tom also seemed to have doubts about the girl's sincerity. "Go away!" he yelled. "As if I'd ever want to play with any of you! You're all idiots!" And the girl was pushed to the floor, as if she had been shoved by an invisible pair of hands. She was pinned to the ground, unable to move. Tom looked over to a bed and a trunk marked "Amy Benson." Apparently girls and boys all slept in the same room in this orphanage. Tom went over to Amy's trunk and opened it. He pulled out a somewhat battered, but obviously expensive porcelain doll. The girl, seeing Tom's action, started sobbing hysterically and yelling "No! Please Tom, don't!" But she was still unable to move from the floor.

Harry guessed that the doll must be a relic from the girl's life before coming to the orphanage. Tom seemed to pause to think for a moment, then chuckled, a laugh without any hint of mirth in it. He held the doll up high above his head, then slammed it head first into the floor. The doll's head shattered with far more force than could have resulted from the impact with the floor, indicating that Tom's accidental magic was at work again. The doll's lacy dress then caught fire and burned to ash. The girl continued screaming. Tom looked in satisfaction at the remains of the doll. The combined force of the blow and Tom's magic had reduced most of the doll to porcelain powder, and the only piece of it that was still recognizable was one of the glass eyes. Tom smiled, picked up the eye, and put it in his pocket. Then he turned to Amy, who was still held motionless to the floor. "You will not tell anyone about this," he said, in a fierce, commanding tone of voice.

"No, never, I promise, I won't tell anyone anything about you ever again!" she said. Tom's magic let her go, and she ran out of the room still crying. Tom smiled.

But the look on his face was not one of simple satisfaction. It was one of vindication. As Harry noticed this, he was drawn up and out of the memory.

Dumbledore picked up the small vial and used it to scoop the silvery strands back up out of the Pensieve. He put the cap on the vial, and put the vial away in a cabinet. "Now, Harry," he began. "I should like to hear your impressions of the scene we have just witnessed before I present my own interpretation."

"Well," Harry started, not certain how honest he should be. He decided to be fully honest about his thoughts on the scene. Dumbledore was clever, and he surely would have noticed the same things Harry did, and might guess that Harry was holding something back if he wasn't honest. "I think there was more to what happened than what we just saw."

"What do you mean, Harry?" Dumbledore said, with his eyebrows slightly raised. Apparently that was not what he was expecting Harry to say.

"Well, to start with, Tom looked sad when we first saw him. He reminded me of…well…me, when the kids at muggle school didn't want to be friends with me because of Dudley."

"An interesting observation," Dumbledore said, though his eyes held some disapproval. "Please continue."

"I don't think that girl who talked to him was being honest. I don't think she actually liked Tom at all."

"Really? What led you to this conclusion?"

"She was smiling, and acting nervous, but her eyes and her body language didn't agree with what she was saying. She was looking down at him, like she thought she was better than him."

"Anything else?"

"At the end, Tom didn't really look smug about what he'd done or anything. He just looked like he thought the girl was getting exactly what she deserved."

Dumbledore sighed. "I see. Harry, your compassion and empathy, traits you get directly from your mother, do you credit. But they are wasted in this situation. I showed you this memory to help you harden your heart. I assure you that this scene happened exactly as you have just witnessed it, and that there was nothing more to the incident. Tom Riddle, even from such a tender age, had a heart filled with darkness, and no care at all for his fellow human beings. Even as a child, he had already embarked on the path to becoming who he is today."

Harry wasn't sure he would've accepted this even if he hadn't talked to Tom. He had seen what he had seen, and Tom Riddle's face had been that of a child seeking acceptance and finding only rejection and scorn. Harry knew that face quite well. He should, since it had been the expression he had worn himself for a large part of his life. But he knew protests would be useless. So he just said, "yes, sir."

"Then I do believe it is nearing curfew, and you should now be returning to your dormitory. No doubt Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are eagerly anticipating hearing of what you learned. You may tell them, but take care to ensure your privacy. I will send you a note to inform you of our next meeting."

"Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Harry."

Harry left the Headmasters office and headed back toward Gryffindor Tower. He certainly was eager to discuss what he'd seen, but not with Ron and Hermione. Ron would just agree with Dumbledore. Hermione would probably be able to see what Harry had seen, but he would have to explain just how he recognized the look on Tom's face, and he wasn't prepared to talk about his childhood with Hermione. Tom would undoubtedly contact him tonight to discuss the retrieval of the Horcrux and the meeting with Dumbledore, and Harry could discuss the memory with Tom. Harry knew there was more to it than what he had seen, and he really wanted to find out what else had happened. He entered the portrait hole and walked over to where Ron and Hermione were sitting in armchairs by the fire, looking anxious to hear what he had to say.

"Hi Harry," Hermione said. "How was your meeting? What is Professor Dumbledore teaching you? Or can you tell us?"

"He's teaching me about Lord Voldemort—Tom Riddle's past."

"What?" said Ron. "How is that supposed to help you?"

"Oh, hush Ron!" Hermione said. "Of course it will help. You can't defeat an enemy you don't understand, after all, and this way Harry will understand Lord Voldemort's mind, and be able to predict his actions."

Harry thought both of his friends had points, and also that Hermione's explanation of why he should study Voldemort's past was far more reasonable than Dumbledore's had been.

"He's using a Pensieve to show me people's memories of Voldemort when he was still Tom Riddle. Tonight I saw a memory of him when he was five years old."

"What happened, then?" Ron said bluntly.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I don't think I'm ready to talk about it right now. I need some time to think about it first. Actually, I think I just want to go to bed."

Ron looked like he wanted to protest, but a glare from Hermione silenced him. "Of course, we understand, don't we Ronald?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem, mate," Ron said, with a horribly forced smile.

"Thanks guys," Harry said, smiling at Hermione. "I'll see you in the morning, and we'll talk about it tomorrow. With that, Harry went up the stairs to the dormitory, got ready for bed, and went to sleep.

A few minutes later, he was in Tom's study, and Tom was smiling brilliantly at him.

"I am certain you are already aware of this, but I received the Horcrux this afternoon. Incidentally, I do not think you will have any further problems with the elf failing to show you proper respect."

"Oh. I might actually have to talk to him about that. If anyone saw him obeying me and not insulting me, they would wonder why. He's under orders not to say anything, but someone could use Veritaserum."

"An excellent point, my little serpent. Now, what exactly is Dumbledore teaching you? Defensive spells? Duelling tactics? Curse-breaking, perhaps?"

"He's not teaching me about magic at all."

"Then what is he teaching you about?"

"You, actually."

Tom looked taken aback. "What is he teaching you about me?"

"He used his Pensieve to show me a scene from your childhood. He says he intends to show me several memories of you so that I can find your weaknesses."

"I see. So, what did you see first in your introduction to the life of Tom Riddle?"

"A memory of you at the orphanage. You were eight years old." Harry explained the memory he'd seen, as well as Dumbledore's explanation of it, and his own perceptions.

"I think that girl must have done something to deserve what you did to her," Harry finished quietly.

Lord Voldemort was surprised. Harry spoke with the air of someone who knew firsthand what it was like to have a childhood where no one liked you, and people blamed you for everything that went wrong. "Amy Benson," he replied slowly, "was the Princess of the orphanage. She came to the orphanage when she was six years old, after losing her parents to typhoid fever. Her family had been very wealthy, and she was used to having everything her own way. The matrons all thought she was adorable, and so sweet and polite. They never noticed anything she did wrong, or they found some way to blame it on me." He stopped for a moment to take a sip of his drink. "Before she came to the orphanage, I was the most popular child there. I was always the first one chosen for sports teams, and the centre of attention. When she arrived, she decided I was competition. She started telling all the other children that I was a freak. She told the matrons that she saw me doing things I wasn't supposed to. Gradually, the children all came to her side, and I was no longer welcome. When she came upstairs, it was to mock me. I later found out that had I come outside with her, I would have been pelted with rotten eggs."

Harry nodded. He knew exactly what that felt like. When he was six years old, Dudley had invited Harry to come outside and play with him and his gang. What Harry hadn't known, being less perceptive, or perhaps more gullible, than Tom was that the game they wanted to play was "Harry-hunting."

Tom continued. "That girl made me feel powerless. When I shoved her to the ground, and destroyed her doll, I relished in the feeling of having power and control. I wasn't powerless after all; I was stronger than anyone else. And I knew that I always wanted to be stronger than everyone else. The discovery that I wasn't weak and powerless was the best moment of my life."

"I still feel powerless," Harry muttered quietly.

Tom put his fingers under Harry's chin and pushed Harry's head up, so that Harry was looking straight into his eyes. He smirked, and said, "You, my little serpent, are anything but powerless. I will show you just how powerful you truly are. And then you will show the world, starting with whoever it was who made you doubt your own power."


	6. Chapter 6

This is an early update, and a double update, because I'm not sure if I'll be able to update at my regular time this week and next week. So I hope you will all enjoy, and I'll get chapter 8 out to you as soon as I can!

Thanks again to all my reviewers!

Chapter 6

Harry had returned to his own bed several hours ago, but Lord Voldemort remained awake thinking about their conversation. He found himself wondering why he had revealed so much to Potter. He never talked to anyone about his past. It was a part of him that was long dead and forgotten. He didn't like to think of it, and he didn't want anyone to know about it. He did not want to be seen as a pitiable child who had turned to evil because no one ever cared about him, and who could be redeemed if only someone could break through his hardened heart. That was a concept best left to children's stories. There was no such thing as evil, or good for that matter. That day at the orphanage, he had discovered what it felt like to have power, and he knew from then on that attaining power would be his goal in life.

In part, he had explained his side of the story to further Potter's trust in him. Dumbledore's plan to ensure that Potter would never see Lord Voldemort as anything but irredeemable, unabated evil in (mostly) human form had completely backfired, and telling his side of the story had undoubtedly gained Potter's sympathy. No, not sympathy exactly. It had strengthened the feeling of affinity Potter had for him. Being totally honest with himself, he realized that he also felt an affinity with Potter. Anyone else who heard the story of his childhood might have reacted with disbelief, or worse, pity. Potter, it seemed, had been through much the same thing, and could offer simple acceptance.

But that was not the only thing that bothered him about the conversation. Throughout the night, Potter kept _touching_ him. The touches were innocent; a hand on the shoulder, connecting foot to foot, or a gentle tap on his arm. This desire for physical contact was undoubtedly an effect of the love potion, but it still made Lord Voldemort somewhat uncomfortable. He did not allow anyone to touch him, he had not since he was a Hogwarts student, and yet he realized he did not disdain these touches, except after the fact. He decided not to let it bother him. It was an unmistakable sign that Potter was becoming more and more bound to him, and he would encourage that binding through whatever means were necessary.

At Hogwarts the next morning, Harry once again woke up in a cheerful mood. He quickly realized that he had gone to bed slightly upset, and that he would have to tone down the cheerfulness before facing his friends. Ron would probably not notice, but Hermione certainly would, and she would want to know how his mood had changed so quickly.

As he got dressed and prepared for the day, he pondered Tom's final words. What, exactly, did Tom mean? Was _he_ going to teach Harry more powerful spells, the way Dumbledore would not? But why would Tom do that? Harry was still the only one who could defeat Tom, and of course Tom didn't want that to happen. This could not be explained by Tom trying to dissuade Harry from attempting to kill him. Why would Tom do something so counterintuitive?

The answer was fairly obvious, and it came to Harry quickly. Tom wanted Harry not only to not fight against him, but to fight with him, on his side. Harry wasn't certain how he felt about that. On the one hand, he really liked Tom, and he had no desire to die, which was the likely outcome if they ever did fight. And he definitely didn't want to be on Dumbledore's side anymore. On the other hand, he didn't want to fight against those who counted themselves his friends. He couldn't imagine raising his wand against Hermione, or Ron, or any of the other Weasleys. Well, Percy, maybe, but he didn't count as a Weasley anymore. And Harry had very personal vendettas against many of the people in Tom's army. He wasn't sure if he could work with Bellatrix Lestrange or Peter Pettigrew. Nor were the Death Eaters likely to be very fond of him.

Tom had also implied that he would help Harry take revenge against the Dursleys. Harry knew Tom had killed his own muggle family before he even graduated Hogwarts. Did Harry want that, too? He considered his aunt, uncle, and cousin. He'd spent ten years of his life living with them, ten years of being treated like a particularly gormless house elf. His uncle and his cousin had greatly enjoyed smacking him around, and his aunt, his mother's sister, frequently reminded him that he wasn't welcome. She'd often hinted that Harry should find another place to go, even knowing that her house was the only place in the world that Harry could be safe. Still, Harry didn't think he really wanted them dead. Apart from feeling that it would be wrong, killing them would be over in a few seconds. He wanted the Dursleys to feel exactly as powerless as he had been made to feel. He wanted to see their eyes as they realized that he could do anything to them, anything at all, and there was nothing they could do about it. He wanted to watch them tremble and beg for forgiveness, and he wanted them to know that he could crush them like beetles.

Did that make him evil? Good people didn't have those kinds of thoughts, did they?

No, he decided, it didn't make him evil. It made him a rational, sane human being. He was talking about the people who had made his life hell for ten years. It was only natural to want to return their "kindness." Actually, he would be a likelier candidate for St. Mungo's closed ward if he _didn't_ wish them some kind of harm.

He met up with Ron and Hermione in the common room and they went down to breakfast together. During breakfast, Harry took a few minutes to go over his notes for Charms. He was fairly certain he didn't really need to, he knew all the information and was even several lessons ahead of the class, but he didn't want to get overconfident.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Hermione asked with a slightly suspicious look on her face.

"Oh, just going over my Charms notes before class. We're supposed to start chapter 7 today, right?"

"That's right, beginning glamours," she answered. She looked hesitant, like she wanted to say something, but wasn't quite certain how to say it.

Harry was fairly certain that he didn't want to hear whatever it was that she was going to say just now, so he cut her off. "I just remembered that I left my Defence book back in the dorm, and there isn't much time left before class starts. I'd better run and get it. Don't want to give Snape—sorry Hermione, Professor Snape, an excuse to take points if I'm late, after all." He smiled at his friends, picked up his book bag, and left the Great Hall.

Harry spent the rest of the day finding small excuses to avoid Hermione's company. Finally, after dinner, he decided to just get the conversation over with. As he got up to leave the table, Hermione asked him "Hey, Harry, what are you doing now?"

"Er…I was going to do some homework."

Hermione gave him a look. "Harry, I know you finished all your homework a long time ago. You've even finished the essay Professor Snape gave us just this morning. Can I talk to you?"

Harry decided to play it innocent. "Sure Hermione. What did you want to talk about?"

"Not here, where anyone could be listening. Let's go back to the Gryffindor common room."

"Alright." They left the Great Hall together, talking of inconsequential things on their way up the seven flights of stairs. They arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Hermione said "carpe diem." The portrait opened, and Harry inwardly snorted. Had a Hufflepuff chosen that password?

They settled down into their favourite armchairs by the fire. Ron wasn't with them, as he had a detention with Professor McGonagall. "Alright," Harry said, sighing. "What did you want to talk about?"

Hermione, blunt as ever, came directly to the point. "You seem…different lately."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Different how?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. You're a really good student now—you weren't a bad student before, but you never really put much effort into it, and now you answer as many questions in class as I do, and your homework is always done ahead of time, and it always gets an 'O,' except from Professor Snape, but even he can't justify giving you less than an 'E.' You always get spells right on your first or second try, you even get them before me, and you learn more than what you have to for class. You don't ever go flying except for Quidditch practice, and even then you only go for as long as you have to. And of course that's not a bad thing, it's wonderful, and I'm proud of you, but it's a really drastic change…and so I just wanted to know if everything was alright."

It took Harry a moment to digest everything that had just come out in that frenzy of words. Then he decided to tell her about the prophecy. Dumbledore had said it was all right, and it was the only thing he could think of to tell her that she would accept. "You're right, Hermione. There is something. And I would have told you sooner, but I just needed some time to think about it and accept it."

"What is it, Harry?" she asked softly.

"Do you remember how I told you that Trelawney's prophecy about Peter Pettigrew was, according to Dumbledore, her second real prophecy?"

"Professor Dumbledore, Harry, and yes, I do." Harry found it terribly amusing that she didn't bother to correct him about Trelawney.

"Well, her first genuine prophecy happened about 16 and a half years ago. It foretold the birth of a boy, born at the end of July, who would have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. And that either he would kill the Dark Lord or the Dark Lord would kill him."

"And it was you?" The question wasn't really necessary, but it was the first thing Hermione had thought to say.

"It was me," Harry confirmed quietly.

"So that's why Professor Dumbledore is giving you private lessons!" Then Hermione frowned. "Harry, he's known about this prophecy since before you were born, right?"

"Yes. Trelawney told it to him directly."

"And how long have you known about it?"

"He told me last year, after we got back from the Department of Mysteries."

"But—if Professor Dumbledore has known about it for so long, why didn't he do more to encourage you? Or tell you about the prophecy earlier? You should have been studying as much as you could for at least as long as you've been at Hogwarts!"

"He said he wanted to give me a normal childhood, without having something like that hanging over my head."

Hermione actually snorted at that. "No offence, Harry, but your chance at that was destroyed in Godric's Hollow 15 years ago. Not to mention that you've encountered Voldemort at least once a year as long as you've been at school, and it sometimes seems like Professor Dumbledore _wants_ you to meet up with him. And a normal childhood is all well and good, but surely he could have balanced that with giving you a better chance at _having_ an adulthood!"

She paused for a moment, and then what she'd said seemed to catch up with her. "Oh my goodness, Harry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said that, and it's not true at all."

Harry wasn't angry, though he realized that Hermione's comment wasn't exactly diplomatic. "Actually, I think it is true. If he hadn't finally told me about the prophecy, I might not have ever decided to take my classes seriously. When I asked him if he would be teaching me more powerful spells, he said no, because I didn't have a chance to catch up with T-Lord Voldemort in terms of magical power. He's got a point, certainly, but it kills me to think how much stronger I could be if I had been really focusing for the last 5 years. I used to think the consequences of not paying attention in class were lost house points, and maybe a detention, and then I found out that it could cost me my life."

Hermione hadn't missed Harry's slip of the tongue. Harry had been about to say "Tom," or maybe "Tom Riddle." She decided it was just because Harry had recently seen a memory of Voldemort as the child he'd once been, a child called the ordinary name of Tom. "Well," she said, "I don't have that time-turner anymore, so we can't redo the past five years, but we can certainly do our best now. I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Hermione."

"So, can I ask you about last night now?"

"What?" Harry asked, somewhat startled.

"The memory Professor Dumbledore showed you, of Tom Riddle's life."

"Oh! That, of course!"

"What did you think I was talking about?" Hermione asked with a puzzled expression.

"Nothing. I guess I just wasn't thinking about that at all anymore, and so I wasn't expecting you to ask me about it."

"Well can you tell me about it now, then?" Hermione asked, sounding a bit impatient.

"Sure, but there wasn't really that much to it. Um, it was a memory of his life at the orphanage, when he was eight years old." Harry paused, unsure of how much of the truth he should tell his friend. Her capacity for sympathy was enormous, but so was her cleverness. She would easily discern that Harry's empathy for Tom Riddle was born out of his own life's experiences. Her sense of moral outrage might cause her to seek justice, which could lead to her saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. She also might tell Ron, and Harry really didn't think Ron could handle it without overreacting.

He decided to tell her just the facts, for now at least. He would see how she reacted to that, and decide how much more to tell her based on that. "The memory was taken from a muggle girl named Amy Benson. She lived at the same orphanage as Tom, and they were the same age. She was watching him—Tom, I mean, from behind a curtain. Tom wasn't doing much of anything, just sitting on his bed and staring out the window. I went over to see what he was looking at. He was watching all the other kids outside playing. Then, while Tom was busy looking out the window, she came out from behind the curtain and asked him what he was looking at."

Harry paused for a moment. "Dobby!" he said.

The over-enthusiastic elf appeared instantly. "Yes, Master Harry Potter sir, what can Dobby be doing for you?"

"Could you bring us two mugs of hot chocolate and some biscuits, please?"

"Dobby is being happy to! Dobby will be right back!"

"Harry," Hermione said, after Dobby vanished again, "you really shouldn't take advantage of him like that."

"I know, Hermione, but if I don't call him and ask for something at least once a week, he shows up on his own asking if I need anything, and if he's done something wrong, and I have to stop him from hurting himself."

"Oh." Hermione considered this for a moment. "Have you tried calling him and just talking for a while, not asking for anything?"

Before Harry could respond, Dobby reappeared with a loud_ crack_, carrying a silver tea tray. The tray had two huge mugs of steaming hot chocolate, and an overflowing plate of all kinds of biscuits.

"Thanks, Dobby," said Harry.

The elf beamed brilliantly at him, then asked, "Will sir and miss be wanting anything else?"

"No, Dobby, thank you. This looks wonderful," Harry replied.

The elf smiled again before disappearing with another loud _crack_!

Harry took a sip from his mug. The cocoa was perfect, like always, rich and creamy, and exactly the right temperature. "So, where did I leave off?" Harry asked.

"Amy came out from her hiding place and asked Tom what he was looking at. Quit stalling, Harry."

Harry winced at that. Hermione knew him just a little too well. "Okay. So she asked him what he was looking at, and he snapped at her in response. She asked him if he wanted to go outside with her and play with the other children. That made him suddenly really angry. He yelled at her, and his magic pushed her to the floor and held her down. He went to the trunk with her name on it and got out a doll. It was dirty, but it looked like it had been an expensive porcelain doll, so I think it must have been from her parents, before she came to the orphanage. He picked up the doll and threw it head first at the cement floor. He must have used more accidental magic, because the doll shattered completely, and its dress caught fire and burned to ash. He walked back over to the girl and told her not to tell anyone about it. She said she wouldn't, and then his magic let her go. She ran out of the room."

"And then?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "That was end of the memory."

Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully. "That's perfectly awful, of course, but there's something you aren't telling me."

"What do you mean?"

"You're leaving something out. What you said happened is horrible, and it makes Tom Riddle sound like a monster, even at the age of eight, but you're not talking about him like that. You're talking about him like you feel sorry for him, so there must be more to this than what you've told me so far."

Damn that girl's perceptiveness! Harry supposed he'd have to tell her, now. He couldn't think of any lie that Hermione wouldn't easily see through.

"Well," Harry began slowly. "It was just that Tom looked really sad when he was staring out the window, like he really wanted to be down there with the other kids, but something was holding him back. And why was she behind that curtain in the first place? She was _spying_ on him. Finally, when she asked him to outside and play, her voice sounded almost like Umbridge's—you know, that too-sweet tone she used to make sure everyone knew she thought she was better than they were. I don't think what I saw in that memory was the whole story."

"Then what do you think happened?" asked Hermione, though her tone was inquisitive and not contradictory.

"Honestly? I think she was planning to play a cruel joke on him. She didn't want him to come and play, she and the other kids probably wanted him to come outside so that they could do something mean. The look on his face, when he was watching out the window, was so lonely. He obviously wanted someone to be his friend."

Hermione gave Harry a sympathetic look that said she knew exactly why Harry understood just how the young Tom Riddle had felt. Well, of course she did. Her bookwormish traits had isolated her from her peers in her early Hogwarts career, and the same thing undoubtedly would have happened at muggle school. To Harry's surprise, though, she didn't pursue the matter further.

"What did Professor Dumbledore have to say about it?" she asked instead.

"He didn't agree with me. He said the memory happened exactly as I saw it, and there was nothing more to it. He also said I was wasting my compassion on Tom Riddle."

"What?" gasped Hermione. "Everyone deserves compassion, especially when they're only eight years old! Just because he became who he is today doesn't mean he was always a monster!"

"That's what I thought, too, but Dumb—Professor Dumbledore," he corrected, before Hermione could interrupt him to do so, "said he showed me this memory to help me harden my heart against what I have to do. He doesn't want me to think of Lord Voldemort—or Tom Riddle—as a human being."

"But you do," Hermione answered softly. "You see yourself in him, especially in this memory."

Now they came to it, the thing he did not want to talk about. Harry decided to subtly shift the subject. "I don't know if I can do it. Even if magical power and experience and duelling weren't involved, even if he was brought to me wandless and in chains, and all I had to do was cast the final curse, I just don't think I could kill him." That was especially true now, but Harry thought it had been true before he talked to Tom, too.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, wrapping her arms around Harry in a hug. She didn't know what else to say. There wasn't really anything she could say. Telling Harry not to worry, that he could take a life, wouldn't be the least bit reassuring, and she didn't think it was true. On the other hand, telling him that he wasn't capable of killing would be telling him that the prophecy would go the other way, and Harry would die.

At that moment, the portrait hole opened and Ron came in, covered in sweat, dirt, and other substances best left unnamed. "McGonagall kept me for hours, catching mice for the fourth years to use in class," he muttered. Then he spotted Hermione, with her arms still wrapped around Harry. "Hey, what's all this, then?" he shouted angrily.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she moved away from Harry and back to her own chair. "It's nothing, Ronald. Harry and I were just talking."

"Talking? Talking! Is that what that was? Oh, well that's all right then! Tell me, Hermione, how often do you and Harry 'talk'? Is it every time I'm not there? How long has this been going on?"

"Nothing is going on. We're just good friends," Hermione said, visibly struggling to remain calm.

"Yeah, I can see that. You're _really_ good friends."

The last thing Harry wanted was to end up in the middle of this row, so while Hermione, who had lost her battle to rein in her temper, was screaming back at Ron, he crept quietly out of the room. As he walked up the stairs, he heard Hermione shout, "Harry is not my boyfriend! Not that that's any of your business at all, because you're not my boyfriend either! And I don't want you to be!"

Harry winced. He knew Hermione didn't like Ron that way, but that wasn't really the most delicate way to turn him down. He hastened his steps up the stairs, wanting to be in bed with the curtains Sealed and Silencing charms up before Ron could get to the dormitory. He did manage to do that, and warn Seamus, Dean, and Neville of Ron's bad mood and the reason behind it. He hadn't been able to brush his teeth, so he took out his wand and muttered a mouth cleaning charm. He fell asleep thinking of the small boy in the orphanage, a boy so much like himself.

The next morning, he woke up early and decided to go down to breakfast before Ron woke up. He didn't want to deal with Ron's moodiness. It turned out that he needn't have bothered, though, since Ron spent the rest of the day, and the rest of the week, avoiding him.

A year ago, that would have made Harry horribly upset. Two years ago, it _had_ made Harry horribly upset. Now, though, maybe it was that Harry was much busier with studying, or maybe they had just grown apart, but Harry found that he didn't really mind. Quidditch practices were a little awkward, but Harry could deal with that. The rest of the team seemed inclined to his 'side' of the argument, although that could just be because Harry kept it off the pitch, whereas Ron never missed an opportunity to snipe at Harry's back.

One day, after a particularly vicious comment, Ginny flew over to Ron and slapped him on the face. "Get over it already!" she yelled. "Harry is not the reason Hermione doesn't like you, but even if he was, one would think you would be happy for them! They're supposed to be your best mates!"

Ron's ears flashed red, but he didn't respond. Instead, he flew to the ground, landed, and started walking back toward the castle.

Harry blew his whistle in three short bursts. The team responded to his command, catching the quaffle and the two bludgers. Harry grabbed the practice snitch, and they all landed in the centre of the field. "Right. Well, I guess that's uh…all for today. We'll have another practice next week on Thursday at 5:00."

The team dispersed, heading off to the showers, but Ginny remained behind. As Harry wrestled the bludgers into the ball chest, she knelt down next to him to help. "I'm sorry I made Ron off and ruined practice," she said.

"Huh? No, Ginny, he ruined practice, not you. You didn't do anything but tell him the truth. And you stuck up for me, so I really can't be mad at you, now, can I?"

Ginny smiled. "Thanks, Harry. You always know just what to say."

Harry smiled back. "After we both finish our showers, do you want to walk to dinner with me?"

"Sure!" she responded brightly.

The met up again outside the doors to the girl's and boy's locker rooms. "Ready to go?" Harry asked, appreciating that Ginny wasn't one of those girls who needed an hour just to rinse off after Quidditch practice. She had even beaten him out of the locker room.

"After you," Ginny said cheerfully.

They walked in silence for a few moments, before Ginny spoke up. "So Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I know you're not the least bit interested in Hermione as a girlfriend, but is there…um…anyone else you might be interested in?"

Harry sighed. He'd thought Ginny had gotten over him, but apparently she'd just learned to cover up her crush and behave normally around him. He wasn't sure what to say. He considered saying that he just didn't want to date right now, that he was too busy with studying and the war. But that would just give her false hope that something could happen later. "Oh," he said, finally. "Um…I really like you Ginny, I think you're beautiful, smart, and fun to be around, but I see you as more of a sister than anything else."

"Oh. I see."

"Please don't be mad, Ginny."

She shook her head, and a forced smile came over her face. "Nah, don't worry about it. Ron's a huge git, you can take his place."

Harry laughed politely at that. They reached the Great Hall, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ginny shake her head slightly at Hermione. Hermione gave Ginny a sympathetic look and raised her eyebrow questioningly. Ginny nodded slightly, and Hermione got up from the dinner table. The two girls walked out of the Great Hall together. Harry swore that girls had some arcane ability to have mental conversations when they wanted to talk about something without boys hearing it.

Just then, Harry noticed that the Great Hall was elaborately decorated, and that a feast was laid out on all the house tables. He frowned. It was Halloween already? Usually he was all-too-aware of Halloween's approach, but this year he'd forgotten about it entirely. It was probably because he'd been so busy recently. He decided he'd take his dinner to-go, eat in his room, and get to bed early. People always stared at him more on Halloween, and the Wizarding Wireless played commemorative broadcasts in honour of his parents. He didn't want to hear it. He conjured up a muggle-style styrofoam box, put some food in it without really looking at what he was taking, and went back up to the Gryffindor common room, and from there to his bed.

He spent a few hours reading, not school related, but a book on Occlumency. He realized he needed to learn it, and badly, and so it was the first "extracurricular" subject he pursued. He couldn't get away with avoiding Dumbledore's eyes forever, after all. He had discovered about five minutes into the first book he read that Snape's succinct instruction of "clear your mind" had been accurate, but hardly complete. Now Harry was on Volume III of a five volume series written by a man who was a gifted Occlumens _and_ a gifted teacher. He had a basic idea of shield building, and he was now quite good at clearing his mind. As he put the book away for the night, he realized that he would need an actual teacher soon, if for no other purpose than to test his shields.

Almost as soon as he had fallen asleep, he found himself conscious again and in Tom's study. Tom's intense vermillion eyes connected immediately with his own viridian. "Good evening, little serpent. I thought you might like some company tonight."

"Halloween isn't really my lucky day. Something bad always happens to me. But not this year."

"No, not this year. This year, I am no longer trying to hurt you." Well, not at the moment, anyway.

"Why?" Harry asked pleadingly. The question seemed somewhat random, but Lord Voldemort was quite insightful, and needed no further explanation.

"I seek power. I thought you were an obstacle to gaining power and a threat to my life."

"Why my parents then? Couldn't you have left them alone and just killed me?"

"Your father fought me. I do not take well to those who resist me. You know very well that I offered to let your mother live, if she would give you up, and that she refused, creating the situation we find ourselves in today."

"I know. It's what I hear whenever I get too close to a dementor."

"I do not apologize, little serpent."

"I know. You know, it's not actually their deaths that I'm angry about."

"No?"

"No. I was still a baby when they died, and I have no recollection of them."

"Then what is it?"

"The life I could have had, had they lived. What it might have been like to be loved."

It seemed it was Harry's turn to be freer than he would really have liked with information this time.

"Severus has told me that you were given into the hands of those who did not care for you."

"That could be the biggest understatement of the year."

Tom looked deeply into Harry's eyes. "Tell me," he commanded.

"It was a lot like your own childhood. They hated me, and they blamed me for everything that went wrong."

"Who, Harry?"

"The Dursleys. My 'family.' My mother's sister Petunia, her husband Vernon, and their son Dudley."

"Muggles?"

"Muggles. Though my aunt and uncle knew that magic existed, and that I was a wizard." Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Not that they ever told me that. They thought that if they beat me every time something weird happened that they could make me be 'normal.' They told me my parents died in a car crash, and that I'd gotten my scar from that. I didn't find out that I was a wizard, much less what really happened to my parents, until my 11th birthday."

"Surely there was someone else to take you in. Even if you hadn't been the boy-who-lived, the Potters were a well regarded family, with many friends."

"My godfather was framed by Peter Pettigrew and sent to Azkaban, as you know. Somehow Dumbledore ended up in charge of what happened to me, and he decided that I was better off away from the wizarding world, where fame might give me a big head. He also cast blood wards to protect me at my aunt's house, wards based on the sacrifice of my mother, that would protect me as long as I lived with someone who shared blood with her. Aunt Petunia and Dudley are the last living people who share blood with her, other than me."

"Does Dumbledore still send you back there during the summers?"

"Yes. Why?"

"There is now one other living person who shares the blood of Lily Potter. Do you remember what I said about your mother's sacrifice, that night at the graveyard?" He touched Harry's scar to emphasize his point.

Harry got the point almost immediately. "_I can touch him now_…my mother's sacrifice used to make it impossible for you to touch me, but you took my blood, and so now you also share her blood. That means…that means the wards at Privet Drive are now worthless too!"

Tom nodded. "There must be some other reason he continues to send you back there."

"I guess I'll have to ask him about that at our next meeting," Harry said darkly.

"You know that you cannot tell him about this discussion."

Harry snorted. "Of course not! I'll tell him that I was thinking back on that night, and I realized it on my own."

Tom pondered that for a moment. "That could work, I suppose."

"I know I'm not as smart as you, Tom, but is it really so hard to believe that I could have figured it out for myself?" Harry asked.

"Of course not. Actually, you did figure it out mostly on your own. I just gave you a small hint." Tom decided to change the subject. "In fact, Severus tells me that the standard of your work has greatly improved, and not just in Defence Against the Dark Arts, in all of your classes, even Potions. He said that he was quite surprised by the level of work you've been doing, even surpassing Miss Granger, when you showed no trace of such intelligence before." Scarlet eyes gave Harry a piercing look. "Could it be that you were, for the sake of friendship, deliberately underperforming?"

"Nobody likes a swot. I learned that growing up, and if I got good marks at muggle school, the Dursleys yelled at me for showing off."

"Then why have you changed that habit now?"

Green eyes that had been diffidently looking down rose to meet the challenge in the scarlet eyes. "I knew you wouldn't like me if you thought I was stupid."

That comment made Tom's inner snake dance wildly. Potter was absolutely under his control, that was certain. It was time to start seriously training the boy.

"Severus once attempted to teach you Occlumency, though I am given to understand that your progress in the art was not ideal."

"No, it wasn't." Harry hated to admit that. He knew that in the past, he hadn't been up to Tom's standards. At least he had a chance to change that now. "But I've started studying on my own, and I think I've made a lot of progress."

"Do you feel confident enough for me to test you?"

"Not yet," Harry was ashamed to say it, but he knew that failing to live up to what he said would disappoint Tom more than honestly admitting his inability. "Give me another three weeks."

"Very well, then. Tell me, little serpent, do you remember the way to the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry looked stricken. "I know I didn't put a lot of effort into study before, but really, just how stupid do you think I am?" After he said it, Harry clapped a hand over his mouth. He really didn't want Tom to be angry with him.

It just made Tom chuckle a bit, however, a dry, sensuous chuckle, one that Harry wanted to hear as often as possible. "Relax, Harry, I am not angry. You are not at all unintelligent, of course you recall the Chamber. Well, if you go into the chamber, stand in front of the statue of Salazar, and say 'library,' a door will open up on the left. I'm sure you can guess what you will find behind that door. Salazar wrote a book combining Occlumency with Parselmagic."

"Wait, Parselmagic? What's that?"

"A branch of magic even older than Salazar Slytherin, created by one of his ancestors. I am not surprised that you have not heard of it, as it can only be used by Parselmouths. Once you have mastered Occlumency, there are several books in the library on that subject. I think you would enjoy them."

"Can the books be taken out of the Chamber? Only I can't really disappear for too long without people getting worried."

"They can, though you will need to disguise them well. They are written in Parselscript, so while no others will be able to read them, they would wonder why you are reading something that appears to be gibberish. In "Secrets of the Serpent," there is a Parselspell for disguising books."

Harry smiled charmingly. "§Thank you, Tom§," he whispered sibilantly.

Tom returned the smile. "§You're welcome, snakeling. Enjoy your studies.§"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Three weeks later at breakfast, Harry received another note from Dumbledore, this one delivered by Romilda Vane. "Hey Harry," she said after giving him the note. "Did you ever eat those chocolate cauldrons I gave you?"

Harry was somewhat preoccupied with the note from Dumbledore, and didn't have the faintest idea what she was talking about, either. "Sorry, but um, what chocolate cauldrons?"

"Well, the ones I gave you back in September, of course!" she said with a pout.

"You gave me some chocolate cauldrons in September?" Harry asked, genuinely confused.

The girl gave a frustrated grunt, muttered something like "This is a huge school, there must be one or two other boys who aren't quite so thick," and stormed off.

Harry mentally shrugged. Girls gave him things all the time, and he usually binned them at the first opportunity. It wasn't important.

Harry spent the rest of the day with only half of his attention on his classes. Luckily, his classes were Transfiguration and Potions, and both lessons were theory rather than practical. He had mastered the subject of both lessons weeks ago, so he managed to keep up to his new usual standard even without giving it his full attention. He was mainly focused on preparing his Occlumency for his meeting with Dumbledore. While he was by no means certain of his ability to keep Dumbledore out, and he would certainly continue trying to avoid the man's eyes, he thought he could at least make sure the Headmaster didn't see any of his conversations with Tom. He spent the day making sure those memories, along with his memory of retrieving the Horcrux and his conversation with Hermione, were buried deep within his mind.

He had a free period in the afternoon, and not for the first time, he seriously considered running down to the Chamber and getting the books Tom had suggested, but he still wasn't certain he wanted to do that. He really appreciated the gesture, as he knew how important this knowledge was to Tom, but he was also fully aware that what he learned from the books was very likely to be Dark Magic. He didn't know if he really wanted to explore that realm just yet, if ever. So he had not gone to the Chamber in the three weeks that had passed since his last meeting with Tom, and he decided to continue holding off on going to the Chamber for now.

The day passed quickly, and it was soon time for his meeting with Dumbledore. Harry sighed and put on his best "boy-who-lived" face, one of earnestness, a touch of anxiety, and above all total trust in the Headmaster. This time the password was "jelly slugs." Harry stepped past the gargoyle and onto the moving staircase.

"Good evening, Harry," he heard as he stepped into the office.

"Good evening, sir," he responded politely.

"Your professors tell me you are making unusually great progress this semester," Dumbledore said, his eyes still twinkling.

"Er—yes, sir."

"In fact, even Professor Snape has said that you are finally living up to the potential you have shown since you arrived at Hogwarts."

"Really, sir?" Harry asked. If that were true, it honestly did make him happy.

"Perhaps not in those exact words, but I am an expert at divining people's true feelings."

Harry didn't really want to think about what Professor Snape actually said that led Dumbledore to that conclusion, so he moved the conversation along. "I know I can't catch up with Lord Voldemort, but I didn't think it would hurt if I at least tried to do better in my classes. Magical knowledge might not be what will defeat him, but it couldn't hurt, right?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Right you are, my boy, and I was quite pleased to hear of this development. Now, I am sure you have studies you wish to pursue or friends you wish to pleasantly waste time with, so let us get straight to the point of this meeting." Dumbledore pulled out the Pensieve and poured in a memory.

"Whose memory is this, sir?" Harry asked.

"My own. It is of my first meeting with Tom Riddle, when I went to give him his Hogwarts letter and tell him that he was a wizard. Please, Harry, go ahead."

Harry put his face down into the Pensieve and found himself once again at the orphanage where Tom had grown up. This time, however, he was outside the front door, watching a far younger Professor Dumbledore ringing the bell. The door opened to reveal a stout, middle aged lady in a linen dress. "Yes?" she said.

"Good afternoon," the young Dumbledore replied. "I am Professor Dumbledore, and I have a meeting with the Head Matron to discuss one of your charges."

Professor Dumbledore was admitted and shown to the office of Mrs. Cole, the Head Matron of the orphanage. He explained why he had come, and Mrs. Cole discussed her perceptions of young Tom Riddle with him. After ten minutes or so, Dumbledore asked if he might meet privately with the boy.

Mrs. Cole sent one of the other matrons to fetch Tom and told Professor Dumbledore that he and Tom could take a walk together outside. Tom Riddle walked in, now three years older than he had been in the previous memory, and his features were no longer so boyish. He was tall, almost as tall as Harry was now at sixteen, and his face more closely resembled the face he would have as an adult. His features were set in a disdainful smirk, though he greeted Mrs. Cole with perfect politeness. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Cole," he said.

"Good afternoon, Tom. This gentleman here is Professor Dumbledore. He is here to speak to you about the new school you will be going to next fall."

Tom's face paled dramatically, though only for a second before it regained its composure. "Yes, Mrs. Cole," he said in a semblance of meekness.

"Come, Tom, let us take a walk together outside," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, sir," replied Tom. He seemed mostly composed, but his eyes were darting around madly, as if searching for an escape, and his hands were twitching ever so slightly.

They walked outside together, and then Tom said quietly, "I don't know what you've been told about me, sir, but it's not true, not any of it."

"Oh?"

"Whatever she said about Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, I didn't do anything to them. I don't know what happened," Tom said, his voice raised.

"Tom, why do you think I'm here?"

"You're here to take me off to the nuthouse, of course! Why doesn't anybody ever believe me when I say I didn't do anything! I didn't, I swear, and there's nothing wrong with me!"

"Tom, Tom, calm down please. I assure you, I am not here to take you to an asylum."

"Then why are you here? Tell the truth!" Tom's eyes flashed as he said this, and Harry could sense that he had used a bit of magic to enforce the command.

Professor Dumbledore must have sensed it as well, as he raised his eyebrows a bit. "I am here to invite you to a school called Hogwarts. It is a very special school."

"Oh, great, an asylum just for kids! I won't go! Do you hear me? I won't go!"

"This is an invitation, not an order. You are perfectly free to refuse. However, Hogwarts is not an asylum. It is, as I have said, a school. It is a school for people, who, like you, have magical abilities."

"Wait—you mean it's magic, what I can do?" Tom asked, his face now slightly excited.

"What is it that you can do?" Dumbledore asked with a slight frown.

"All sorts of things! I can make things happen—er, things that aren't normal. And I can hurt people if I want to," Tom said, with a slightly manic gleam in his eye.

"How long have you been able to control your abilities?" Dumbledore asked with a forced casualness.

"Three years. I started being able to when I was eight years old," Tom said proudly.

"I see. Well, at Hogwarts, you will be given instruction in how to use your abilities, so that you do not hurt anyone, especially not yourself."

Tom's face fell, ever so minutely. Harry might have missed it if he hadn't been watching for it. Tom's next words did not give any voice to his disappointment. "It sounds wonderful, sir. What do I need to do?"

"Here is a letter explaining the situation more fully. There is also a list of supplies you will need."

"Oh. But sir, I don't have any money."

"Not to worry, not to worry. There is a fund to provide for students like you." He handed Tom a small drawstring bag. "This should be enough to purchase everything you need, though you may need to buy some things second hand. Now, would you like me to accompany you on your shopping trip?"

"No. I can do it myself. I go into the city by myself all the time. Just tell me where I need to go."

"There is a small pub on Charing Cross road, called the Leaky Cauldron. You will be able to see it, thought the muggles—that is, those without magic—around you will not. Enter the pub and ask Tom, the barkeep, how to get into Diagon Alley."

"Yes, sir."

"If there is nothing else, then I will see you on September 1st."

"Just one more thing, sir. I can talk to snakes. Is that unusual?" Harry could see in Tom's face that he was hoping this would impress the professor.

Tom's hopes were not to be fulfilled, though. "It is unusual, but it is not unheard of," Dumbledore replied. Then he disappeared with a twirl of his cloak.

Harry came out of the Pensieve and found Dumbledore once again waiting to ask him what he thought. This time, Harry knew better than to tell the whole truth.

"He must have been up to more of what we saw in the last memory, to make Mrs. Cole so suspicious of him. I guess they also must have talked about sending him to an asylum."

"Indeed, after that incident, I believe his behaviour became more and more disturbing. What else?"

"He didn't have any trouble accepting that he was a wizard. When Hagrid told me, I couldn't believe it at all. I thought he must be lying. But Tom almost seemed to expect it."

"That is true. The young Tom Riddle always believed he was special and important."

That comment provoked Harry. "Or maybe he wanted someone to tell him that he was special and important," he said, slightly angrily. He cursed his Gryffindor mouth for letting that slip out.

"What do you mean by that, Harry?" Dumbledore said, his eyebrows raised.

Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon. "Just that—all his life, he was just another boy called Tom. No one paid any attention to him, well, not until he started using his magic, and then instead of being seen as special, he was seen as a freak, and possibly a mental patient. Then someone comes along and tells him that he's not a freak, and he desperately hoped that person would also tell him he was special. Why do you think he told you he could talk to snakes?"

At that moment, Albus Dumbledore realized that his plan to ensure that Harry would detest and not hesitate at all to kill Lord Voldemort was seriously backfiring, and it would have to be abandoned. He sighed, and smiled at Harry. "It seems that you already understand Tom Riddle far better than I ever could, Harry. I think we will leave off with these memories now."

"Yes, sir. Whatever you think is best," Harry said, being careful to only sound slightly disappointed.

"Perhaps you'd best be going back to the Gryffindor common room now. Unless there is anything else?"

Harry decided to go for it. He checked his Occlumency one last time, then said, "Yes, sir, there is something I wanted to ask you."

"Go ahead, then, my boy, ask away."

"I've been thinking a lot about Voldemort, especially about all of my past encounters with him, and something from that night at the graveyard is stuck in my mind."

"What is it, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, looking concerned.

"Just that, well, you said that the Dursleys' house is protected by blood wards, based on the protection my mother gave me when she died. But after Voldemort took my blood, he could touch me. He couldn't touch me before, because of the protection of my mother. He has my blood—which means my mother's blood—now, too. If he could touch me, doesn't that mean he could enter Privet Drive whenever he wanted to?"

Now Harry felt the probing touch of Dumbledore's mind on his, and he realized he couldn't simply shut it out. That would be too suspicious. So instead he pushed forward memories of himself thinking about it and trying to decide whether or not to ask about it at their next meeting. It seemed to work, as the touch pulled out.

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, Harry, you are correct. There are still very powerful wards at Privet Drive, but the wards based on your mother's sacrifice will no longer prevent Lord Voldemort's entry."

"Did you know that all along?"

"Yes, I realized that as soon as you told me that Voldemort was now able to touch you."

"Then, sir, please, why send me back there?" Harry whispered desperately.

"They are your only family, Harry. What is more, I did not believe anyone would think to look for you there, in the midst of the muggle world. And, while that shield would not stop Lord Voldemort himself from entering, it would not allow the Death Eaters to enter, a not insignificant boon."

Harry paused to consider that. That last was actually a good point. He looked up at Dumbledore, and then frowned. The man still looked anxious, like he was hoping Harry would leave it at that. "There's more to it than that, isn't there, sir?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, Harry, there is. Your Aunt Petunia did not always hate her sister. Before Lily came to Hogwarts, the sisters loved each other deeply. However, Petunia was jealous of Lily's magical abilities, and resentful that she rarely got to see her sister anymore. When Lily married James, Petunia knew that she would never have her sister back, and slight jealousy and resent turned to outright enmity. Petunia was deeply remorseful when Lily was killed. She regretted never having made up with her sister. I had hoped that she could find redemption through you."

"I see. Was that all, sir?" Harry's tone was slightly biting now.

"Your parents also left a trust fund for your care and education, should anything happen to them. The Dursleys received a part of this money as recompense for the cost of caring for you. I knew this could not make them feel affection for you, but I believed that this money would at least ensure that your basic needs were cared for."

That made Harry snap. "Well you believed _wrong, sir._ My basic needs? Sure, if you call having a cupboard to sleep in being sheltered, and if you call getting the scraps from the meals that I cooked and cleaned up after being fed, and if you call having Dudley's nearly worn out and five sizes too big hand-me-downs being clothed! Oh, not to mention what a great job Vernon and Dudley did seeing to my need for discipline! You wouldn't want me to have a big head, after all, and being punched every time I stepped a toe out of line certainly kept me humble. And as for Petunia, she hated me. She saw me as the reason she never had a chance to make up with her sister, and she would have been happier if I had died with my parents. And was her redemption, redemption that she had already had thirteen years to attempt, really more important to you than my welfare? And on top of all that, they were paid to take care of me?"

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said. It only made Harry angrier to see that the old man was crying. "I truly had no idea that the situation was so bad."

"You never asked. You never asked Tom Riddle how he felt, either. Perhaps you ought to stop determining the fates of wizarding orphans, _sir._ I'm leaving now. Goodnight."

Harry stormed out of the office, and Dumbledore made no attempt to stop him. Power, fuelled by anger, rolled off of Harry in waves, and most people who saw him coming scrambled to get out of his way. Ron, however, wasn't so lucky, or, perhaps, so smart. He stopped in front of Harry, blocking his path.

"I don't have time to talk to you right now. Let me by," Harry snarled.

"No, wait, Harry, I wanted to talk to you. I need to apologize."

"Oh, you just figured that out now? Good on you, _mate_. Now let me by."

"Harry, really, I'm sorry"—

Whatever else Ron was about to say was lost, as Harry's magic picked him up bodily and slammed him against the wall. Harry continued along his path, and he found an empty alcove on the third floor. He got out the invisibility cloak that he kept with him at all times and put it on. He had been uncertain about going to the Chamber, but now his mind was made up. Dumbledore obviously didn't give a damn about Harry's protection, and that meant he was just going to have to learn how to protect himself. And if Tom asked for Harry's help in bringing Dumbledore down, he wanted to be prepared.

He didn't encounter anyone on his way to the Chamber, and Myrtle wasn't even in her bathroom. Not that it mattered, since he was invisible anyway, but he didn't have to worry about sound, so that made it easier. He opened the sink and slid down the pipe. He heard the grating of the sink closing behind him.

He walked down the passageway to the main Chamber itself, memories echoing around him. He thought about when he had first seen the young Tom Riddle. Even then, he'd found Tom to be incredibly handsome. What he'd done to Ginny was bad, but Harry supposed he must have been going a bit crazy after fifty years locked up in a diary. And Tom was ruthless. It was something Harry knew he was just going to have to accept.

He got to the main Chamber, took off his invisibility cloak, and looked at the statue of Salazar Slytherin himself. "§Library,§" he hissed out. A door opened to his left, just as Tom had said it would. Harry went in, and was delighted to find thousands of books, all sorted by subject. "Now," Harry said to himself. "Would that book Tom mentioned be under Occlumency or Parselmagic?" He decided to start with the section on Parselmagic, since he wanted to find "Secrets of the Serpent" anyway. He went over to the shelf housing books on Parselmagic, and saw "Unique Occlumency for Parselmouths" on the top shelf. "Great!" he said, hardly believing how easy that had been. "Now, '§Secrets of the Serpent§,' where are you?" Harry hadn't noticed that he'd hissed out the title of the book, but then there was a flash, and something hit him over the head. "Ouch!" he yelled. He reached down to pick up the offending object, and found that it was the book he wanted. "Well, I guess that works out then." He thought he heard a soft chuckle somewhere, but he looked around and didn't see anyone, and it wasn't really possible for anyone else to be there, so he dismissed it as his imagination. He would have liked nothing better than to sit in the comfy-looking armchairs in the library and read for hours, but he knew that it wouldn't be wise to stay here for too long. People might be looking for him, especially after his outbursts at Dumbledore and Ron. He conjured a bag to put his books in for now, and headed toward the exit. Then he realized something. He didn't know how to get out. Fawkes wasn't here to fly him out, nor had he brought a broom or anything. He cursed his own temper and the stupidity it led to. "§How do I get out of here?§" he yelled, again unconsciously in Parseltongue.

Out of nowhere, a voice answered. "§Ask nicely and I might tell you, lion cub. §"

Harry was now quite confused, and also a bit scared, but decided to listen to the voice's suggestion. "§Please, will you tell me how to get out of here?§"

There was a hissing chuckle. "§Much better. Now, to get out of here, all you have to do is say the password.§"

"§What's the password, please?§" Harry asked, remembering to be polite.

"§You learn quickly, lion cub.§" Again, the hissed chuckle. "§The password is 'exit.'§"

"§And where will that take me, sir?§" Harry wasn't completely certain, but he rather thought the voice was a man.

"§Wherever you want in the castle. Just think about where you want to go. Incidentally, that also means that should you happen to say 'exit' in passing, you will not leave, because you will not be thinking of a destination.§"

"§And is there a password to return to the Chamber? Sir?§" he added quickly.

"§Yes.§"

"§Please, sir, what is it?§"

"§That, you must discern on your own.§"

"§And who are you, sir?§"

"§That, as well. I do not believe you shall find either task too taxing. Run along now. It's almost curfew.§"

Harry sighed. He would think about it later. For now, he put his conjured bag over his shoulder, put on his invisibility cloak, and thought about the old, no longer in use, Arithmancy classroom on the seventh floor. It was quite near Gryffindor tower, and it had no door, so no one ever used it for snogging or other illicit activities. "§Exit,§" he hissed. There was a brief sensation of being pushed through a tube, much like Apparation, and he found himself in the classroom he'd thought of. Still in the invisibility cloak, he looked out into the hallway. No one was there, so he took the cloak off, walked into the hallway, and entered the Gryffindor common room. As he entered, he noticed that everyone seemed to freeze. He wondered about that, and then he remembered what he'd done to Ron earlier. He decided he'd deal with it in the morning. He did his best to smile sheepishly at his housemates, and walked up the stairs to his dorm. He magically Sealed his curtains shut, put up Silencing charms, and got ready for bed. Tom had given Harry instruction in how to purposefully use the link between them the last time they met, and Harry was ready to put that lesson into practice.


	8. Chapter 8

I apologize for missing last week's update, but I'm afraid it was unavoidable. So here's another double update to make up for it.

Thanks again to all reviewers!

Chapter 8

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, utterly shocked at the conversation he had just had with young Harry Potter. He couldn't believe what the boy had just told him. Was it possible the boy had just been exaggerating? No, likely not. Harry was not a child prone to even the slightest exaggeration, in fact, he often understated things. Harry's upbringing had indeed produced a humble child, one who never asked questions and never complained, knowing that these actions would only lead to punishment. What the boy said would have to be true. Given that, he wondered how Harry could have grown up to be such a remarkable, caring soul.

He also thought back to another black haired boy, a boy he had met more than fifty years ago. Was Harry right? Had he, himself, inadvertently pushed Tom further along the path of Darkness? These were troubling thoughts, and he could not push them entirely out of his mind. He sighed. It did not matter now, except to his own conscience. Tom had become what he had become, and the reasons for it were no longer important. Tom had to be stopped, regardless of what it cost.

--

Harry used his Occlumency meditation to put himself into a trance that was near sleep, but not exactly that state. The trance allowed him to clearly view his own mind and magic. He found the link between himself and Tom, a link that glowed a deep green, and focused on following that link. He sent out a questioning thought, much like a mental knock on a door, and received a feeling of acquiescence. Harry smiled, and allowed his body to fall into true sleep. Tom would take care of it from there.

Upon his 'arrival' at Tom's study, he found himself wondering where Tom was actually living. It didn't look like Riddle Manor. He supposed Tom could have renovated his muggle father's home, but the house had a distinctly magical feel to it. He wasn't going to ask, though. What he didn't know, he couldn't give away, a wise precaution when one spent private time with a wizard who excelled in Legilimency.

His musings were interrupted by Tom's greeting. "Good evening, Harry. I sensed that something made you very angry this evening, though you do seem calmer now. Would you care to discuss it?"

Harry sighed. Part of him still couldn't believe how terribly Dumbledore had manipulated him. "I had another meeting with Dumbledore tonight," he said.

"I see. I take it you did not receive a satisfactory answer to the question you brought up at our last meeting."

"He wanted to give my aunt a chance at _redemption_. He thought that taking care of me would help her to reconcile with her dead sister."

"But instead, she resented you for living, especially at the cost of her sister's life. Yes?"

"Exactly. And if that weren't enough, Dumbledore told me that my fam—no, they don't deserve to be called that—the Dursleys were given money out of my trust fund to take care of me."

"Adding insult to injury indeed. Did you tell him of your treatment at their hands?"

"I did."

"How did he react to that?" Tom was genuinely interested in the answer.

"He actually had the nerve to cry, and say he didn't know."

"He would have known, had he ever actually cared enough to ask," Tom said softly. They both knew Tom wasn't only talking about Harry's childhood.

"I can't believe he cried. I lived through it, and I didn't cry. What makes him think he has the right?"

Tom could sense that Harry was on the verge of shedding tears _now_, and that made him slightly panicked. He had no idea how to deal with tears. He, like Harry, had stopped crying at a very young age. What was the use? And, of course, he didn't want to deal with the brat's tears. Let him cry on his own time. Now it was time for a new discussion. "Would you like me to kill them for you?"

That brought Harry's focus back to anger, as Tom had predicted it would. All signs of eminent tears disappeared from Harry's face. Tom felt quite relieved at that. There was a pause while Harry thought about Tom's question. "No," Harry said finally. "No, I would not like that."

"Why not?" he asked, expecting some horribly sentimental tripe about those people still being family, no matter what they'd done to him. But his little serpent surprised him again.

"If you do it, they will never understand why. And they will blame me for drawing your attention to them. I want them to know that what happens is their own fault for how they treated me. I want them to see me with all the power. I want them to know that I could do anything to them, anything at all. I want them to feel the fear that I felt as a child. I want them to know what it is to be constantly knocked down by something you can't reason with, and to be punished no matter how hard you try to please. A few rounds of Crucio and a quick killing curse are _nothing_ compared to what they did to me." Harry hesitated a moment before continuing. "And if they are killed, I want it to be _me_ who kills them."

That left Tom completely stunned, though of course he didn't show it. Harry was a lot Darker than most people believed. Even he had accepted the façade of Gryffindor nobility, and never really looked past it. Harry wanted revenge, and not the kind that came in hot-blooded explosions of temper. Harry had obviously been thinking about his desire for revenge, contemplating it in cold blood, and that was not something a Gryffindor typically did. Tom wondered who Harry truly was, underneath the 'boy-who-lived' persona. He liked the snake hiding under the lion's skin, and decided to do whatever he could to bring it out. He wouldn't want to suffer through dealing with imbecilic Gryffindor nobility all the time, after all, especially if it was avoidable.

"Wanting revenge like that…does that make me evil, Tom?"

"There is no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it. But I've told you that before, haven't I…§my little serpent§?"

"§If only I'd listened to you then.§"

"But you've come to your senses, and begun to seek power for yourself."

"No."

"What do you mean, no? You're outperforming all your classmates in your school work, and you've started learning things just because you want to. You even went to get the books from the Chamber."

"I'm not seeking power for myself. I'm seeking it for you."

If Tom thought he had been shocked before, that was nothing compared to now. Could this truly be the simple result of the love potion? He didn't really think so. Yes, his little Harry definitely had a darker side to him. It was a side Tom was thrilled to exploit. But—"What do you mean by that?"

"I thought about why you would tell me about the library in the Chamber. For a moment, I couldn't think of any good reason you would do that. Then I realized it was obvious, you want me to fight on your side. Am I right?"

"Yes, you are right, though I must confess I did not expect you to agree quite so readily."

"Dumbledore made it very clear to me that he doesn't really intend to protect me. You ask me to fight on your side as well, but you will actually help me prepare for what you expect of me."

"Yes. And our power together will be the greatest force the world has ever seen."

Harry blushed. "Your power already is. I'm not all that powerful."

"Or so Dumbledore wants you to think," Tom said, smirking.

"What?" Harry blinked.

"Think about it. Dumbledore has already had one student under his care grow into a Dark Lord. He sees your potential, as I do, my little serpent, but he does not want to run the risk of training the next Dark Lord, so he does his best to keep you ignorant."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked. "I mean, not that I don't trust you, I trust you, of course I trust you, it's just that it doesn't seem like something you could possibly know," he back-pedalled quickly.

"I do not know. As you say, I cannot see into Dumbledore's mind. It is merely a guess. I do, however, feel that it is very likely to be true."

"I see. It would explain why he won't really teach me anything, even though he expects me to…you know…do that thing."

"No matter. What he will not teach you, I will."

Harry smiled. "I know. You've proven that to me already. By the way, how did you know that I went to the Chamber tonight?"

Tom's all-knowing smirk returned. "Let's call that a family secret, shall we?"

"There was a voice in the Chamber, a man. He told me about how to get out of the Chamber, and that you were waiting to talk to me."

"So he decided to speak to you then. Very interesting."

"Who is he?"

"If he didn't tell you, he doesn't want you to know just yet. Or he wants you to decipher it for yourself. It's actually fairly obvious."

"Salazar!" Harry gasped.

"Were you expressing surprise, or did you figure it out?"

"I may not be on Dumbledore's side anymore, but I am still a Gryffindor. We lions don't speak the name of the serpent. If I had been expressing surprise, I would have said 'Godric!'" Harry said with an impudent twist to his nose. Tom chuckled. "But why would Salazar talk to me? I'm a Gryffindor and a half-blood."

"You are a Gryffindor only because you and Dumbledore cheated. I happen to know that Dumbledore told the hat to put you in Gryffindor if it was at all possible, and to keep you away from Slytherin. The hat still wanted you in my house, but then you had to go and argue with it too. Whatever Dumbledore might have said to the contrary, you belonged in the Serpent House, and only the fact that you are the direct heir of the Gryffindor line kept you out of it. As for being a half-blood, you know perfectly well that I am one as well. Perhaps Slytherin's prejudices weren't what you thought they were."

"What do you mean? If Slytherin didn't believe that only pure-bloods deserved a magical education, what did he believe?"

"That is a discussion for another night. I know you have been focusing on Occlumency all day, and that your mind is quite tired as a result. In the meantime, read the books you took from the Chamber tonight. Do not hesitate to ask me any questions you may have. Notify me when you have finished those, and I will suggest two more for you to study."

"Should I add this to my timetable as another class? Maybe ask the ministry if I can take a NEWT in Parselmagic?" Harry teased.

"Think of it more as…private tutoring," Tom said, still smirking. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Tom."

As Harry returned to true sleep, he had one last thought. "Wait. _I'm_ the direct heir of the Gryffindor line?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The next morning when Harry woke up, he was still quite preoccupied with the idea of being Gryffindor's heir. Was it true? And how could Tom have known about it? How could he even find out for himself if it was true or not? He couldn't exactly just walk into Dumbledore's office and ask, and the Hogwarts library didn't have any books on genealogy. Then he realized there was a simple answer, or at least a simple source to begin looking in. He made sure the Sealing and Silencing charms around his curtains were still intact, then called for Kreacher.

The elf appeared immediately on Harry's bed, and just as Tom had predicted, he had lost his surly attitude entirely. "Yes, Master?" the elf said, bowing so low that his nose touched the blankets.

"Kreacher, I need a book out of the Black library."

"Kreacher will fetch it for Master! Which book is Master needing?"

"Erm, Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy."

"At once, Master. Kreacher will be returning with Master's book."

Harry didn't know if that book would have anything, but the Potters were an old and respected pure-blood family. He remembered that he'd have to have a talk with Kreacher about his newly respectful attitude when the elf came back. It was nice not to be cursed at and insulted, but he couldn't afford to let anyone become suspicious. Kreacher reappeared, holding the book Harry had asked for. "This is the book Master is wanting, yes?"

"Yes, Kreacher, thank you."

"Can Kreacher do anything else for Master?"

"Actually, yes." Harry wasn't sure how to explain what he wanted to the elf. "You see, when the two of us are by ourselves, I want you to treat me as your Master. But if anyone else is around, you must continue to be rude to me and insult me."

The elf looked aghast at the idea. "Kreacher won't! Kreacher must show respect for Master!"

Harry decided to be strict with the elf. "You must keep all of my secrets. If you show me respect in front of anyone else, you will give away my most important secret. I order you to be rude to me in the presence of other people."

Kreacher looked reluctant, but nodded. "Kreacher is doing as Master asks."

"Excellent. Return to the kitchens now, Kreacher, and remember, you may not tell anyone about this."

The elf bowed again, and disappeared. Harry looked at the book Kreacher had brought with some interest, but realized that he didn't have time to read it just then. He put it into his trunk with the two books he'd taken from the Chamber. All three books were then put under a simple glamour to look like more normal, acceptable reading material, but that spell wouldn't last more than a few days, and it could be broken fairly easily. He'd have to find that Parselspell for disguising books soon. He got out his robes for the day, his homework, and the books he would need. After changing clothes, he closed his trunk, and used several locking spells.

As he turned to leave the room, he found Ron suddenly standing right in front of him. He started to push past the red-head, but Ron said, "Wait, please, Harry."

Harry stopped for a moment, and looked at Ron. He realized that he had attacked Ron while his once-best mate had been trying to apologize. Ron didn't have any visible bruises, but he was moving a bit stiffly. "Yes?" Harry said, still a bit coldly.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry. I tried to tell you that last night, but I guess I didn't pick the best time to say it."

"Er, right. I'm sorry for throwing you into a wall. Last night was a really bad time, about the worst time you could have picked, actually, and I didn't do it on purpose."

Ron shrugged, but then winced, as though that movement had increased his pain. "Nah, I reckon I deserved that. Ginny was right. You're my best mate, along with Hermione, and the best mate-ly thing to do is to accept it and be happy for you both."

Harry did his best not to roll his eyes. "Thanks Ron. Really, that's kind of you. But Hermione is not my girlfriend. I don't like her that way."

Ron looked confused. "Then why did you say no to Ginny? Which girl do you fancy?"

Harry sighed. "Not that this is really any of your business, at all, but I don't fancy any girl." And he didn't. Most girls were too giggly, and too obsessed with clothes, hair, makeup, and social status. The only girls he knew who weren't like that were Hermione, Ginny, and Luna. Hermione and Ginny were like sisters to him, and Luna was a nice person, but Harry didn't think he could ever understand her.

Now Ron looked shocked. "Harry, mate, are you trying to tell me that you're gay?"

Was he gay? He hadn't really ever thought about it. Okay, so he wasn't really attracted to any girls. Cho had been the single exception, and come to think of it, he'd thought of her as more like a boy, with her interest in sports and lack of obvious feminine curves. Once he got to know her better, he realized that she _was_ an exceptionally beautiful girl, but he just wasn't interested anymore. And he'd found Tom Riddle attractive, even when he was 12 years old. "I don't really know," he said, though more to himself than Ron. "It's never really been an issue. I've always been too busy to really think about it."

"You're not…you don't…fancy _me_ do you?"

Harry laughed out loud. "No offence mate, but no, no way, absolutely not."

"Oh, right then. Friends again?" Ron asked, holding out his hand, though he still looked a bit uncomfortable.

Harry shook Ron's hand. "Friends again." He noticed that Ron sighed in relief when Harry dropped his hand. "Ron," he said, his green eyes suddenly flashing, "You won't tell anyone about this, will you?" Though Harry didn't notice it, his magic was flaring to enforce the command, exactly as the eight year old Tom Riddle's had.

Ron wasn't consciously aware of the push from Harry's magic, but he responded to it with subconscious fear. "No, no, of course not Harry. It's not anybody's business but yours."

Harry's magic relaxed, and the tension in the room eased. "Shall we go to breakfast now?" Harry asked.

Ron smiled. "Sure. I hope they haven't run out of sausage yet." The two friends walked down to the Great Hall together, everything seeming normal again, though Harry noticed that Ron was very careful not to walk too close to him. He shrugged it off. Ron would either realize that Harry being gay did not mean that he was attracted to every man he saw, or he would find new excuses to avoid Harry. Either way, it didn't matter much. Harry was now used to doing without Ron's company.

Over the next two weeks, it seemed that Ron was choosing the 'avoid Harry' option. But he was keeping his word not to say anything, so Harry was content. Actually, it made things a little bit easier. He really wanted to impress Tom, so he spent some time every day in the Room of Requirement working on Occlumency and beginning Parselmagic. His Occlumency was now excellent, and he was fairly confident that neither Dumbledore nor Snape would be able to see into his mind. Nor would anyone else in the world, with the possible exception of Tom. His mind was now guarded by assorted serpents, which would "bite" anyone who attempted to enter, as well as more traditional shields. He had also practiced hiding certain memories while bringing others to the front of his mind, which he thought he was doing quite well at. Soon, he could probably pretend to be attempting to keep Dumbledore out, and explain that he had begun to study on his own. His skills could "develop" until Dumbledore believed that he was proficient. Then Harry could simply bar the man from entering his mind. Showing someone only the memories you wanted them to see was far more difficult, not to mention far more risky, than simply keeping them out of your mind. Harry didn't much like Snape, but he did respect the man's abilities, considering how long he'd been doing that to both Dumbledore and Tom. Harry thought gradually pretending to get better and better at Occlumency was a good plan, but of course it wasn't without its risks. He'd have to run it by Tom first.

Secrets of the Serpent was likewise proving to be interesting and useful. The first thing he'd learned was the spell Tom had mentioned to conceal the actual identity of the book. It was especially great because it caused a person to see the affected book as whatever book they expected to see Harry reading. It also told the caster what book any given person saw, so that the caster would not be surprised or caught off guard when asked about the book. Hermione usually saw school textbooks, or supplemental material for subjects currently being discussed in classes. Once or twice, she had seen books about duelling and combat tactics. Ginny saw books about Quidditch strategies. Ron's reaction was by far the most amusing, though. He usually saw gay pornographic magazines. Even if Harry did look at those sorts of things, did Ron really think Harry would be sitting in the Great Hall or the Gryffindor common room to do it?

In addition to that spell, the rest of the book proved to be worth its weight in gold, ten times over. Of course, casting in Parseltongue meant that an opponent would have no idea what spell had been cast. Spells cast with Parselmagic could only be undone by another Parselmouth. Had Harry still been planning on having the epic duel to the death with Lord Voldemort that everyone was expecting, that would have made it far less useful. But now he could use it to prove that he was worthy of a place by Tom's side.

Hermione, who had become Harry's closest companion recently, was far more aware of Harry's frequent retreats than Ron. At first, she was content to give him sympathetic looks and leave him be. But as the trend continued, she started to do her best to cling to his side, and not let him go off alone. Studying with her was fine, of course. Harry was confident that Hermione would not be able to see what he was actually reading. Practicing these spells, though, could not be done in front of her. Yet every time Harry asked for some time alone, though she would agree verbally, her eyes would beg him not to go. Harry finally decided he would have to find out what was going on with her so that he could get more time to practice. The hour or two that he was getting a day was just not enough. So one afternoon he asked her to come to the Room of Requirement with him. He asked the Room for a comfortable sitting room. When they had entered and settled on the couches, Harry began the conversation. He decided to go at it with the same blunt approach Hermione herself would have used.

"Hermione, you know I think of you like a sister, and I enjoy spending time with you, but lately whenever I'm about to go do something by myself, you look like you're going to cry. I know you're not in love with me, so what's going on?"

She looked unsure for a moment. "I don't know if I should tell you. I mean, you just made up with Ron, and I don't want to come between the two of you again."

Harry had to laugh at that. "Hermione, first, you didn't come between me and Ron. _Ron_ came between me and Ron, because he wouldn't listen to either of us. Second, I know it's about Ron now, which means you've said too much not to tell me. So if you don't explain what it is, I'll just assume he said or did something unforgivably rude to you and go hex him bloody."

Hermione laughed too. "I guess I did say more than I meant to. I don't think there's any need to go practice your combat tactics on Ron, though."

Harry gave her a mock-gallant bow. "As your chivalrous defender and protector, I think I get to be the judge of that."

Hermione was in full out giggles by that point. "No, really, Harry, he hasn't been rude at all. It's just that he really believed that the only reason I wouldn't go out with him was because I was going out with you. Now that you've somehow convinced him that I'm not going out with you—wait, how did you convince him that you're not going out with me?"

Harry sighed. Ron would probably blab about what Harry had said sooner or later, so he figured he should just tell Hermione now, so that she wouldn't be surprised or offended when she did hear it from Ron. "I er…told him that I'm gay."

Hermione didn't seem too surprised by that. "That makes sense. It must be why Ron is still avoiding you. Is it true?"

"I'm not really sure. It's true that I'm not attracted to any girls, but I guess I just don't think about it very much. But—you wouldn't mind if I was, would you?"

"Of course not Harry! Who you fancy isn't any of my business."

"Good. So, now that you know why Ron believes me when I say we aren't dating, what's he done to you?"

"He thinks that I have to come to my senses and realize that I'm madly in love with him. He leaves me alone if you're there, but the instant you're gone, he's there. He stares, he distracts me from my homework, and he keeps trying to sit closer to me and touch me."

Harry grumbled internally. Ron really was a prat. He had a solution, but it was a Dark spell, as well as being a Parselspell, and though he trusted Hermione, he wasn't sure she would accept it. Well, he didn't have to tell her it was a Parselspell. He could mutter the spell under his breath, and Hermione wouldn't be able to hear it well enough to know what language it was. "Hermione," he began slowly, "do you trust me?"

"What? What kind of a stupid question is that Harry? Of course I trust you."

"Well, you know I've been doing a lot of studying on my own lately. Trying to get ready."

"Yes…" she said, with a questioning tone to her voice.

"I know of a spell that could solve your problem. It's just that, er, it's not exactly a ministry approved spell."

"So you've been studying Dark spells when you go off by yourself." Her tone was not exactly dripping with approval.

"Hermione, if I don't know anything about them, how will I ever be able to fight them?"

"Yes, but you're not studying them to fight them. You're studying them to use them."

"Not the Unforgiveables! Only some mild spells. They're tools, Hermione, and useful tools at that. Even aurors sometimes use Dark spells."

Hermione's face took on her 'thinking' look. "I don't like it, but I suppose you're right. Just be careful, Harry. Now, what's this spell you mentioned?"

"It's a proximity ward, and it's something like a muggle restraining order. You set the spell for a specific person, and whenever that person is within a certain distance, say three feet of you, they start to get a headache, and they feel the urge to get away from you. The more uncomfortable they make you, the worse they feel. The feeling ends as soon as they get out of the specified range. It won't do any permanent damage, but it can lead to a blinding migraine if they don't get the point." What Harry didn't tell her was that the spell's consequences were the choice of the caster; it could be set to cause anything from a hangnail to death to anyone who came too close. That was one reason why it was a 'Dark' spell, even though it had been invented for witches of the Slytherin line who needed it for the same reason as muggle women sometimes required restraining orders. Harry also knew of another spell, designed to prevent rape, that made it impossible for any man within a certain distance to achieve erection, but he didn't think Hermione really wanted to know about that one.

"Harry, that sounds perfect! I still don't like that it's a Dark spell, but I can't think of any Light or Neutral spell that could do that. Why only three feet, though?" she said, with a slightly malicious smile.

"Well, you do still have to attend classes, eat meals, and sit in the common room with him, so it has to be a small enough range that he can be in the same room, as long as he doesn't sit next to you or very close to you."

"Can you do the spell now, Harry? I don't think I can take this much longer."

"Of course. Just sit back, relax, and think of Ron, and how it makes you feel when he won't leave you alone." That was the other reason this spell was Dark, it depended on negative emotions. In a few moments, the spell was cast. "All finished," Harry said.

Hermione frowned. "I don't feel any different."

"Let's see where Ron is right now." Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map. "Aha, he's in the library, most likely waiting for you. Would you like to go and test the spell?"

"But Harry, what if it doesn't work? If you go with me, Ron will probably leave, but I don't want to be alone if the spell doesn't work!"

Harry chuckled. "I do have quite the arsenal up my sleeve," he said, pulling his invisibility cloak out from its hiding place in the aforementioned sleeve. For a moment, he looked like a muggle magician pulling out a line of scarves from his clothing. "I'll be there, but Ron won't know it. Besides, I want to see for myself how he reacts to this spell."

"Harry! That's awful!" she said, though she was smiling.

"Just think of it as satisfying my purely intellectual curiosity," Harry said, and then pulled on his cloak. They made their way to the library, where Ron was sitting at a table near the entrance. Hermione smiled and said hello, but walked past Ron to her favourite table, toward the back of the library and just under a particularly lovely stained glass window. Harry moved quietly to stand behind her chair. As Ron predictably walked over to Hermione's table and took a seat, Harry put an invisible hand gently onto Hermione's shoulder.

"Hermione, hey!" Ron said, taking the seat next to Hermione without waiting for an invitation. Hermione continued working quietly for a minute or so before acknowledging Ron, although that wasn't unusual for her when she was working.

"Oh, hi Ron. Can you believe all the homework we've got, and this close to the holidays, too! And of course, our end-of-term exams are coming up. I feel like I've barely even started studying."

"You take school too seriously," Ron said, putting his hand on Hermione's arm. "Lighten up some, Hermione." Another silently tense minute passed.

Hermione gave an obviously forced laugh. "Maybe you're right, Ron," she said, as she moved her arm out from under Ron's hand, ostensibly to get a quill out of her bag.

Just as Ron scooted his chair a little closer to Hermione's, he suddenly grimaced. "Is something wrong?" Hermione asked.

"Nah, it's nothing, just a little headache. It's probably from too much school work." Ron grinned at his own joke. His words were belied by the way he pressed his hands to his temples and rubbed gently.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Hermione asked, with a voice that sounded genuinely concerned.

"Ouch! Don't talk so loud!" Ron said, though Hermione was using her library voice. Harry was hard put to keep silent. He desperately wanted to laugh.

"Really, Ron, if your head hurts that badly, maybe you should go see Madame Pomphrey. Or at least quit studying for a while and go have a lie down."

"Yeah, I think I'll go do that," Ron muttered, sounding dazed and clutching his head. He left quickly, still muttering about professors who gave their students a too-heavy workload.

After checking to make sure no one was watching, Harry pulled off his cloak. He and Hermione had a good laugh, though a quiet laugh, as they didn't wish to incur the wrath of Madame Pince. "I think the spell works," Harry finally said.

"Thank you, Harry."

"Hopefully this spell helps Ron to get the idea. He's been a prat lately, but he is still our friend. I'd like to be able to spend some time with him, before…" he let his voice trail off.

Hermione smiled at him, and seemed to know that he didn't want to talk about that anymore. "So, the holidays start in another two weeks. Do you have any plans?"

"Ron and Ginny invited me for Christmas at the Burrow. Any other year, it would have been a given that I'd go, but Ron still doesn't really seem comfortable around me, and while Ginny isn't stalking me like Ron is you, it still makes her sad to see me. She hides it well, but I'd rather not make her unhappy. Plus if I stay at school, I can spend a lot more time studying and practicing, without anyone interfering. What about you?"

"I was invited to the Burrow, too, but I don't think I'll go either, especially since you won't be there. My parents were really upset last year when I left in the middle of the Christmas holidays, and then I didn't spend Easter holidays or most of summer holidays with them either. So I think I'll go home to see them."

"That sounds nice," Harry said softly. "The Weasleys are great, of course, but there are so many people at their house, and it's always so noisy and hectic. I'm sure it'll be great to have a small, quiet family Christmas."

"You know, I've told my parents all about you. They'd really like to meet you. Do you think you might want to come home with me for Christmas?"

Harry was truly grateful for the invitation, but he knew he couldn't accept. "Thank you so much for the invitation, Hermione," he said. "It really means a lot to me. But we just got Ron to stop believing we were dating, and if he found out that I went home with you, he'd probably start believing it all over again. And I really do want to use the time to study and practice, and I doubt your parents want me practicing powerful destructive curses in their living room."

Hermione laughed. "Alright. Though I wasn't just saying that about my parents wanting to meet you. They really would like to sometime."

"How about Easter holidays? Ron should be over it by then."

"Brilliant," Hermione smiled, her eyes gleaming.

When the day ended and Harry was preparing for bed, he decided that his success with the spell he'd used on Ron was a signal that he was ready to move on and study something else. He sent his mental request for a meeting to Tom, received a feeling of happy agreement, and sent his body to sleep.

"How are you progressing in your studies?" Tom asked, as soon as Harry regained awareness.

Harry knew Tom wasn't talking about his classes. "Good," he replied. "I think I've finished with the first two books."

Tom smiled at him, a heart-stopping smile that could melt stone. "Very good. Do you feel prepared for me to test your Occlumency now?"

Harry screwed up his courage. "Yes. I'm ready."

"First, the easy part. I wish for you to simply keep me out of your mind."

Harry nodded, looking into Tom's ruby eyes and steeling himself for attack. The attack came, quickly and brutally, from three fronts at once. Tom truly was a master Legilimens. But Harry's efforts had not gone to waste, and he withstood that attack, and all the attacks that followed it.

"Beautifully done, little serpent. I see you made good use of that book. Now for the more difficult test. I will be looking for the memory of our first true conversation. You will only show me memories of our confrontations before that meeting."

Without pausing, Tom began his attack. Harry repressed his instinct to defend and allowed Tom into his mind. He pulled out memories of the Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, the graveyard in Little Hangleton, and the Ministry of Magic, and directed Tom subtly toward these scenes. He felt Tom's presence resisting his guidance, searching further. Harry let out a few other memories, memories of feeling Tom's emotions through his scar, or seeing visions of Tom's activities. Still, Tom continued searching. Harry then pulled out memories of conversations about Tom, such as learning about what had happened in Godric's Hollow from Hagrid, reading about Lord Voldemort in the Daily Prophet, and Fudge's refusal to believe in Lord Voldemort's return. Finally, Tom pulled out of Harry's mind.

"And you pass this test, too, with flying colours. I could not find a single trace of these meetings in your memories."

"Dumbledore knows that I have become more serious about my studies," Harry said.

Tom wasn't sure what to make of this seeming non sequitur. "Yes?"

"I can't avoid meeting with him forever, nor can I completely stop looking into his eyes. While I can show him only the memories I wish for him to see, it is tiring," Harry admitted.

"You have a plan in mind." It was not a question.

"Yes. The next time he tries to look into my mind, I will pretend to be just beginning my study of Occlumency. I will keep him out of my mind for a few seconds, then pretend to be unable to block him out any further. Then, when he thinks he has broken my defences, I will show him whatever memories I choose. After that, he will probably decide to continue teaching me Occlumency himself, partly as an excuse to see what's in my head. My skills will gradually 'improve,' and eventually Dumbledore will believe that he has taught me to shield my mind completely, and will stop using Legilimency on me altogether. What do you think?"

"Why not simply keep him out from the beginning?"

"If I do that, he will believe someone must have taught me. He will want to know who it was, and he will attack full force to find out. He might even attempt to use Veritaserum on me. I believe I could block him out, regardless of how strongly he attacked, but then he would lose all trust in me, and I wouldn't be able to get any more information from him. He would keep a close watch on me, and I wouldn't be able to study and practice the spells from the Chamber library anymore. But if he believes he is teaching me, he will believe everything he sees in my mind, and will still trust me when I have 'learned' to block him out completely."

It sounded like a well thought out plan to Tom, but he would never act rashly. He told Harry as much. "I will continue attacking your mind throughout the night, to ensure that you can handle surprise attacks, and that your endurance is sufficient. If you continue to succeed at holding me back, I will allow you to go ahead with this plan."

And so the two spent the next several hours talking of largely inconsequential things, though they also discussed the theory of Parselmagic. Tom continued attacking Harry's mind every fifteen to twenty minutes, always without warning. Harry continued preventing Tom from getting to the memory or memories he was after. Tom was impressed at how well Harry was grasping the serpentine spells. Harry was the only other person on earth who Tom could discuss them with, and he greatly enjoyed their conversation. Of course, he mostly just enjoyed being able to show off his brilliance. Potter hadn't contributed much, if anything. It was just gratifying to talk about Parselmagic with someone who was at least capable of understanding what he was saying.

Finally, after one last brutal test of Harry's defences, he decided that Harry was ready to go through with the plan, and told Harry as much. "After so many attacks, I am sure you must be quite tired. You did very well tonight."

Harry beamed up at him, and Tom refused to acknowledge how that smile made him feel more cheerful himself. "What are the next two books I should study, Tom?"

Tom considered it for a moment. "First, 'Twilight Spells: An Introduction to Dark Magic.' I know you have already begun to practice Dark spells, but this book will give you a thorough grounding in the subject, a foundation to build upon, if you will. I have never found another book that was its equal in that respect, and I found it useful when I read it myself, even after practicing Dark spells for two years."

"Whatever you say, Tom. You obviously know what you're doing. What about the second book?"

Tom had a sudden stroke of brilliance. "Would you like to learn to be an Animagus?"

Harry gasped. "Really? Do you think I could?"

"It is not something you can learn immediately, but yes, I am certain that you are capable of it. There is a book titled 'Unleashing Your Totem' in the Transfiguration section that will explain how to begin the process."

"When I was in the library before, I said the name of the Parselmagic book and it just appeared. Will all of the books do that?"

Tom smirked. "The book simply appeared in front of you?"

"Er, not exactly in front of me."

"Oh?"

Harry gave a sheepish grin. "It hit me over the head."

Tom chuckled, the chuckle that always made Harry's spine melt. "The same thing happened to me on my first sojourn into the library. I quickly learned that saying the title of the book in Parseltongue will indeed bring the book to you, but it is best to be ready to catch it."

"I should be able to study these books more quickly. Christmas holidays start in two weeks, and I'll be staying at Hogwarts. Since almost no one else is, it should be easy for me to disappear."

"Excellent. Again, notify me if you have any questions, or any meetings with Dumbledore."

"I will." Harry yawned. "Goodnight, Tom."

"Goodnight, Harry."


	10. Chapter 10

I'm so so so sorry! I just started a new job, and moved to a new apartment, and it took some time to get internet access installed! Here's a nice long chapter...forgive me and review? Please?

Chapter 10

The next day, while looking through his trunk to find a pair of clean socks, Harry noticed "Nature's Nobility" underneath some old homework. He realized that he had completely forgotten to look up his family and find out whether or not what Tom said was true. It probably was. Tom was not known for being wrong about things, and he had no reason to lie to Harry about it. But Harry wanted to find out for himself. His roommates were all out of the room. Seamus and Dean had left for breakfast, Neville was in the bathroom, and Ron was probably waiting for Hermione in the common room. Harry quickly cast the Parselspell to conceal the book and put it into his school bag to read whenever he had a spare moment during the day. He went downstairs to the common room and found Hermione and Ron waiting for him. He noticed that Ron wasn't standing very close to Hermione. He walked down to breakfast in the middle of his two best friends.

It wasn't until the free period after lunch that Harry was finally able to open up the book he'd been carrying around all day and find the Potter family. The book was not self-updating, and it had been published in 1908, so the most recent Potter listed was Julius Andrew Potter, born in 1900. At the time the book was published, he was the only male child in the Potter family. That meant he could have been Harry's great-grandfather. The family tree took up two "pages" of the book, though it was something like a magical pop-up book. When the book was opened to those two pages, the entirety of the known family tree was displayed in a 3-D image. Harry followed the line of Potters all the way to the top, noting the peculiarity that the Potter family had always had at least one son. Harry also noticed that primogeniture must have operated in the wizarding world as well as the muggle one, as the families of daughters and younger sons were not listed on the tree, excepting the cases where the eldest son had died before having an heir. At the top of the tree, there were several question marks and missing names. The names of those who were the heirs and lords of the Potter family were highlighted in red, which made following the main line of succession quite a bit easier. When Harry got to the top of the family tree, he found a man named Leopold Potter, who lived from 1423-1502. Harry supposed more than 500 years of his family's history was quite good for a single book, and he really shouldn't have expected to find the answer in the first book he picked up. He turned the page, just in case the family tree had been continued. It hadn't, but it also did not reveal a different family tree. Instead, Harry found a list of the Potter family's most notable achievements. That held him fascinated for some time, seeing who had invented new potions and spells, and who had been Minister of Magic, and who had invented the cure for dragon pox. And then, at the very bottom of the list, it said "Though it is not known for certain, the Potters are widely believed to be descended from the Gryffindor line. The Gryffindor line by name ended with Felicity Regina Gryffindor (1428-??). In 1430, the Gryffindor family was attacked by a Dark wizard, and Felicity was the only survivor. No one is certain what happened to her, but her body was the only one that was never recovered after the attack. Then, in 1445, Leopold Potter married a young witch from no known magical family, but who was well educated in the traditions and etiquette of wizarding high society, and therefore could not have been a muggleborn. She was called 'Gina,' and her hair was the raven-black colour trademark of the Gryffindor family. Many magical historians have put two and two together and come up with four, though there are some that argue that these circumstances, and the Potter line's propensity for being in Gryffindor house at Hogwarts, are simply coincidences, and that the Gryffindor line is extinct.

Harry closed the book and sighed. It certainly _seemed_ to all add up, but there was the possibility of coincidence. Would this circumstantial evidence have been enough to persuade Tom that Harry truly was the direct heir of Gryffindor? Harry didn't think so. Then, unbidden, a memory came back to him. "Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat," Dumbledore's voice echoed in his mind. Harry snorted. Just like King Arthur pulling the sword from the stone, Harry had proved his birthright. He'd literally been hit over the head with a giant clue, and it was somewhat surprising he'd never considered the possibility before. Harry knew Snape had told Tom about his conversation with Dumbledore after the Chamber incident, which meant that Tom knew Harry had been able to take and use Gryffindor's sword. Combined with the existing rumours about the Potter line, that would have been proof enough for Tom.

Harry realized that he'd been in the Room researching for over an hour now, and that it was time to go to class. He got there just before the bell rang, and took the first seat available. Much to his surprise, Ron, who had come in just after he did, took the seat next to Harry, even though several other seats were open, including the seat next to Hermione. Throughout the rest of the week, Ron gradually seemed to get more and more comfortable with being around Harry again. Conversely, he tried to get close to Hermione less and less often. That made spending time together far easier for the three of them. Harry still withdrew at least once a day to study and practice spells, but when Hermione didn't argue about Harry leaving, Ron didn't either.

In the week before the Christmas holidays began, Harry got a note requesting another meeting with Professor Dumbledore. This one was scheduled for Thursday night at seven. Harry wasn't sure whether or not he hoped Dumbledore would try to see into his mind. Harry was eager to begin his plan, but he hated having his mind read.

A festive atmosphere permeated the castle by the time Thursday night arrived. Harry presented himself at the Headmaster's office promptly at seven o'clock, only to find Professor Slughorn just leaving. "Harry, my dear boy!" the stout professor boomed. "Lovely to see you, simply lovely. We all missed you at my holiday party last night!"

"Er, sorry Professor," Harry said, trying to look sheepish. "I had a headache yesterday afternoon and I went to Madame Pomphrey for a potion. I guess the potion made me sleepy, 'cause I accidentally took a nap for 4 hours." Actually, he'd gone to the kitchens to chat with Dobby for a while, and then hid in the Room practicing some Dark spells.

Slughorn laughed, his rotund belly jiggling. "Not to worry, not to worry, I'm sure we'll see you there next time!"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and stepped past the still-open gargoyle onto the moving stairs up to Dumbledore's office.

The door was already open, so Harry walked in. Dumbledore was pulling the Pensieve out of the cabinet. Fawkes chirped a note of greeting. "Good evening Fawkes." He paused for a moment. "Oh, and good evening to you, too sir," Harry said, as though it were an afterthought.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore replied, seeming both amused and relieved by Harry's good humour. Since Harry was not making any issue of their previous uncomfortable parting, the elderly professor apparently decided to follow Harry's lead and pretend nothing had happened. Dumbledore pulled a corked vial out of his robes, and Harry noticed immediately that this vial was not the same as the others. The contents of this vial were somewhat chunky, as opposed to the smooth swirliness of the others Harry had seen.

"Sir?" Harry said.

"Yes, Harry?"

"I thought you said we were leaving off with studying memories of Tom Riddle." Harry had hoped that Dumbledore would finally be teaching him some useful magic. At that point, Harry felt the tell-tale signs of someone entering his mind. He put his plan into action. He dropped all but the most rudimentary Occlumency shields from his mind, and pretended to be trying valiantly to hold those basic shields in place. After about five seconds, he let Dumbledore into his mind. He allowed the old man to see memories of Harry studying diligently for class, Harry's disappointment at not being taught more magic, and his fear that he would be killed by Voldemort. He allowed Dumbledore to see memories of Harry reviewing the nights at the graveyard and the ministry, and wondering if he could have saved Cedric and Sirius, had he only been more prepared. Then he felt Dumbledore's presence withdraw from his mind.

"I see you have been studying Occlumency," Dumbledore said, as though he had not just violated Harry's privacy in the deepest way possible.

Harry pretended not to mind. "Yes, sir. Snape, um, I mean Professor Snape might need some work on his people skills, but he knows what he's talking about when it comes to dealing with Voldemort. And if I had learned it before, Sirius would still be alive. I won't let anyone else die because I can't protect my mind."

Dumbledore paused for a moment. "Do you think you might be able to see far enough past Professor Snape's lack of…people skills, as you put it, to make another attempt at learning from him?"

Harry looked indignant. "I know I'm not doing it perfectly, but I've only been studying it for a couple months! Sir."

"Do not misunderstand me, Harry. You have made progress, and excellent progress at that, but without an instructor, it is difficult to know precisely how much progress has been made."

"I'm sorry, sir. I know you trust Professor Snape, and you have your reasons. I respect that you can't tell me those reasons. But I have not seen any reason to trust him, especially because he did not give me anything but the most rudimentary instruction when he attempted to teach me previously. If you can think of anyone else who can teach me, I will accept, but I can't learn from Professor Snape." Harry purposefully used 'big words,' having learned from Tom that people, especially older people, would take you more seriously if you did. He hoped Dumbledore would take that bait.

And he did. "Very well, then, Harry. I shall teach you myself. We will begin after the Christmas holidays, as I must be away on business until then. Now, back to our purpose for this evening."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Harry said. He didn't have to fake the excitement in his voice.

"As you so wisely pointed out earlier, I did say that we would be leaving off from the study of Tom Riddle's childhood. The memory we are about to see is from Tom's days at school. At the time of this memory, he was already calling himself 'Lord Voldemort,' and he had already lost his innocence by murdering his family. Therefore, I believe we can say that he was no longer a child."

"Whose memory is this, sir?" Harry asked. "And why does it look so different?"

"An excellent question, my boy," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "This memory was taken from our very own Professor Slughorn, Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin house while Tom was at school. You will recall, I believe, Lord Voldemort's claims to immortality?"

Oh, so Professor Slughorn had known Tom at school, and apparently had useful memories of the young Dark Lord! That explained why Dumbledore had been so desperate to get Slughorn back into Hogwarts. Harry replied, "Yes. And it seems like he must have something to back it up."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Indeed, he does, and this memory is the key to discovering just what means he used to that end. As for why this memory looks different, it will be easier to explain after you have viewed it." Dumbledore uncorked the vial and dumped in the memory. Harry stuck his face into the bowl.

He watched as Tom carefully manipulated Slughorn into giving the information he needed. Harry was glad Dumbledore hadn't entered the memory with him, as he could not keep a look of sheer admiration off his face. Harry's attempts to wheedle information from Hagrid, Lupin, Sirius, and various other people throughout the years looked pitifully amateurish compared to Tom's mastery of the art. Perhaps Tom would be willing to teach him something about this, too. He saw Tom asking Slughorn about Horcruxes, and watched Slughorn carefully for his response. Was Dumbledore finally going to reveal the secret of the Horcruxes to Harry? But it turned out that Harry would still have to play ignorant. The memory turned to a cloudy white, and Slughorn's voice echoed around him: "I don't know anything about Horcruxes, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you!" The scene went back to normal, and Professor Slughorn bade Tom goodnight. Then the memory ended.

"What happened? Was the memory damaged or partially Obliviated?" Harry asked as soon as his head left the Pensieve.

"Very good, Harry. Indeed, Professor Slughorn has tampered with his own memory of the event. I believe he did not wish to recall his own contribution to the rise of Lord Voldemort."

"So in the real memory, Professor Slughorn explains to Tom what a—what was it called?"

"A Horcrux, Harry."

"What a Horcrux is then?"

"I believe so, and I believe there is more to the discussion than just the definition of the term. However, only two people know for certain, Tom Riddle and Horace himself."

"You think he still has the original memory, sir?"

"Yes. Had he truly erased the old memory, the new memory would not have appeared so flawed. Somewhere in his mind, he knows what truly happened."

"Sir, what exactly is a Horcrux?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Ah. The _crux_ of the matter, if you will forgive me. Tonight, I am giving you a homework assignment of sorts. You will learn what a Horcrux is when you retrieve the true memory from Professor Slughorn."

"Me, sir?" Harry did not have to fake being a bit nonplussed. "I don't even know Legilimency!"

"Yes, you, Harry. I do not suggest you attempt Legilimency to accomplish this goal, either. Professor Slughorn is quite an accomplished Occlumens. No, you will need to persuade him to give it to you willingly."

"May I ask for help, sir?"

"I would prefer that you not tell Mr. Weasley or Miss Granger about this just yet. After you have retrieved the memory, you may discuss it with them."

In other words, no. Luckily, Dumbledore didn't have the faintest idea who Harry really intended to ask for help.

"And when is this…homework due, sir?"

"I'm sure you understand that time is of the essence. Lord Voldemort's power grows with every passing day, and this memory holds a piece of knowledge essential for defeating him." One of the tinkling silver devices on Dumbledore's desk suddenly gave off a loud siren noise. "I do believe it is time for you to go. I shall be in contact about our Occlumency lessons. Good night, Harry, and good luck."

The door to the stairs opened behind him, and Harry walked out, wondering what the cause of the alarm and his abrupt dismissal was. But he didn't really have anything to base a conclusion on, and he probably wouldn't ever find out if he was right anyway, so he gave that up as a bad job.

The next day was Friday, the last day before the Christmas holidays began. Afternoon classes had been cancelled so that the students could return home. After lunch, Harry was standing in the Great Hall saying goodbye to his friends. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the Burrow, Harry?" Ginny asked. "Mum and the twins will be terribly disappointed."

"Thanks, Ginny, but I'm really looking forward to having some time by myself to study. You guys have a great Christmas. I'll owl you your presents."

Hermione and Ginny both gave Harry a hug goodbye. Ron proved that he was not entirely over his discomfort around Harry by offering a nervous handshake. Harry shook Ron's hand while rolling his eyes at Hermione. His three friends took their bags and waved goodbye. Harry watched as the carriages rolled down the hill toward Hogsmeade, continuing to wave until his friends were completely out of sight. He was a little bit sorry, but it was outweighed by his relief at the feeling of freedom he now had. With his friends, and more importantly Dumbledore gone, Harry could spend as much time as he wanted in the Chamber library. No one would bother him or ask him where he'd been all day.

He'd ordered presents for his friends a long time ago, out of a catalogue. He got a new pair of Quidditch goggles for Ron, and sets of matching gloves, scarf, and hat for Hermione and Ginny. The gloves were kid leather, and the hats were made of alpaca wool. According to the catalogue, it was the most lightweight, warm, and waterproof wool available. Hermione's set was done in shades of green and Ginny's in shades of blue. Kreacher, of all people, had helped him pick those out. Who would've thought the crazed elf would have such good taste? For his roommates, he'd simply bought small boxes of candy, as he always did. He'd also bought socks for Dobby, as well as some for Professor Dumbledore. He thought he'd send the socks to Dumbledore with a note that said "Use them well." The old man would probably find it amusing, and take it as a sign that Harry still fully respected and cared for him. Harry saw it as a symbol of Dumbledore's refusal to trust Harry. The Headmaster had seen what the innermost desire of Harry's heart was, after all, and wasn't Harry's desire just as personal of information as Dumbledore's? But instead of giving like information in exchange, Dumbledore had given Harry a farce of an answer. So Harry would give him the farcical desire. There was only one person he couldn't think of anything to get for. Tom.

He wasn't even sure if he should get Tom anything. Their relationship was hardly normal, and until very recently, they had been mortal enemies. But Tom had become an important person in Harry's life, and Harry wanted to acknowledge that with a Yule gift. He just didn't have the faintest clue what that gift should be. Tom wouldn't want Quidditch supplies or candy, his usual stand-bys. He might want books, but he would only want rare and powerful books, not anything that could be purchased from a common store like Flourish and Blotts. The same would be true for magical artefacts; Tom wouldn't want anything that could be purchased at a store in Hogsmeade.

He supposed there was still a week before Christmas, so he still had some time to think about it. Maybe an answer would come to him down in the Chamber, in an atmosphere that reminded him of Tom. And if not, finishing with the two books he currently had would please Tom. Without anyone watching him, Harry was able to spend almost all of his time in the Chamber library, studying and practicing. Over the next three days, he only emerged to eat breakfast and dinner, and to go to sleep in his dormitory. Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus had all gone home for the holiday, so when coming back from the Chamber, he could simply appear in his room. He'd also figured out the password to get back into the Chamber without having to deal with Myrtle or the slime built up in the pipe slide. As the voice that he now knew to be Salazar's had said, the password was extremely simple. It was "§enter,§" said while picturing the main room clearly in your mind. Of course, that meant that one had to find the pipe entrance and get in the hard way the first time.

On the third day, Harry entered the Chamber to find a man there waiting for him. The man's form was ethereal and glowing, though not translucent like that of a ghost. "§Salazar?§" Harry gasped.

"§Very good, lion cub. I see you accomplished both of the tasks I set for you. §"

"§But how are you here? You obviously aren't a ghost, but you don't seem completely alive either.§"

"§All four founders left a part of their spirit somewhere in the castle. In life, our magic was tied to the castle. In death, our magic remained here, with Hogwarts, and therefore a portion of ourselves did as well. I am something like a magical portrait, only far less restricted.§"

"§So the spirits of the other founders are here too? Do you know where they are?§"

"§Yes, the others are here, and yes, I do know where they are.§"

"§Where are they? Would they talk to me too?§" Harry was extremely excited at the prospect.

Salazar just smirked at him.

Harry sighed. "§Let me guess—something else I must 'discern for myself?'§"

The apparition smiled. "§Of course. I will give you a small hint: you have already interacted with Godric's spirit, as has every student who has passed through Hogwarts.§"

Harry thought about the parts of the castle associated with Gryffindor. He couldn't think of anything in the Tower. The idea that it was the portrait of the Fat Lady was laughable. The sword of Gryffindor also seemed unlikely. Wait—the sorting hat, it had once belonged to Godric, hadn't it? "§The sorting hat?§" he posited.

"§You are very quick, child. The other two will not be so quickly found, but if you have not found them before the Easter holidays, I will indulge you with another hint.§"

"§Thank you, sir.§" Salazar smiled at him, but did not say anything more, so Harry decided the conversation was finished and continued on to the library.

Twilight Spells had proved to be everything Tom claimed it was. Harry's understanding of Dark spells had greatly increased after reading it. He was somewhat surprised by how quickly he took to Dark magic. It was powered by negative emotion, the stronger the better, and Harry hadn't ever thought of himself as a negative person. But when he thought about it, he realized that his life had given him far more experience with negative emotions than positive. The first year of his life had undoubtedly been filled with love, trust, and happiness. After that, in his time with the Dursleys, he had never, not once, felt loved. Nor could he think of even a single moment when he had felt truly happy. The ten years of his life spent there were characterized by fear, jealousy, guilt, spite, shame, anger, sorrow, and hatred. During his childhood, the time when children learned about feelings, Harry had only known the negative ones, and so it was no surprise that these feelings came to him easily. It was more surprising that Harry was able to cast powerful Light spells like the Patronus. Or perhaps not. Most people were used to being happy, or if not actively happy, at least content. Harry's moments of happiness had not occurred until Hogwarts, and even there they were few and far between, so they stood out intensely in his mind.

Today, however, Harry was finished with the book on Dark magic. He had begun with the book on the Animagus transformation, but he had made little progress so far. But that was also not his current objective. Time before Christmas was running short, and he still hadn't thought of anything to get Tom. He decided to make a list, the way Hermione would, and see if that helped. He pulled out a scrap piece of parchment and a quill, and wrote at the top "What to get Tom for Christmas." He would write down all of his ideas and choose the best one.

Half an hour later, Harry was staring at the still-blank parchment. No possibility even worth considering had crossed his mind.

"Having problems, lion cub?" The sudden reappearance, comment, and transition into English from Salazar startled Harry, and he dropped his quill, sending ink flying. Salazar laughed as Harry murmured a spell to clean up the spilled ink.

"I don't know what I could possibly get Tom for Christmas," Harry said, sighing in frustration.

"Tom? Who is Tom?" Salazar asked, intrigued. Surely Harry did not mean _that_ Tom…

"Tom Riddle, your heir, of course. He came to the Chamber while he was at school, you must know him."

Okay, Harry did mean that Tom. Salazar was intrigued. His spirit could only materialize in the Chamber, but he still communicated with the spirits of Godric, Rowena, and Helga, and between them they had a fairly good idea of everything that happened within Hogwarts castle, and through that, the outside world. He knew what had become of Tom Riddle after leaving Hogwarts, and he knew the story of Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort. "Yes, I know Tom. We spoke often during his time at school. I was simply not aware that your relationship with him was on such friendly terms."

Harry smiled, a shy and yet mischievous smile that was exactly the same as Godric's. The boy's hair was also the same raven-wing black that had been a characteristic of almost every member of the Gryffindor line. What were the odds of that happening, with over a thousand years having passed between Godric and Harry? The boy had to be a direct heir. "It wasn't, until very recently," Harry answered. "But back in September, Tom and I had a meeting. We've been meeting every couple weeks since then, and Tom has been very good to me. He teaches me about more advanced magic, which Dumbledore won't do. I'm not on Dumbledore's side anymore, and I could _never_ hurt Tom in any way. Tom is my best friend now, but I can't just say that, it would be embarrassing, so I want to show him how much I care about him by getting him the absolutely perfect Christmas gift. But I can't think of anything good enough!"

Now Salazar was suspicious. He knew something of the prophecy--that Harry was one, perhaps the only one, who could defeat Tom. He could easily see Tom being kind to Harry to make sure that the boy would not be an obstacle. But he also knew about what happened in Godric's Hallow, and something of the near-fatal encounters the two had had during Harry's time at Hogwarts. There was no ordinary way that Harry would have forgiven Tom so quickly and come to care for him so deeply. Tom had to be up to something. Salazar wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want his heir to be defeated and killed, especially since Tom was his last remaining descendant. But he liked Harry. The young man reminded him so much of Godric, who, despite what legends had to say, had actually been Salazar's closest friend. He didn't want to see Harry hurt or killed, either. He decided he needed to have a talk with his heir and find out exactly what was going on.

"You said that you meet with Tom on a regular basis? How is that possible?"

"You know about what happened when I was a baby, right?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps not all the details, but I know the story, yes," Salazar answered impatiently, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"When Tom tried to kill me that night, and his curse backfired, it didn't just give me a scar on my forehead. It created a bond between us. Before September, I would sometimes see through his eyes, and feel what he was feeling. I didn't have any control over it, it just happened. But one day in September, my mind was pulled to him. I wasn't really there with him physically, but I had an illusion of a body. I'm not sure why our link changed like that, but I think it might have something to do with when Tom possessed me in June. That day in September was when we really talked for the first time. Now, I only feel what he feels when he wants me to, and he can also feel what I feel when I want. So we use that link whenever one of us wants to talk, and then Tom pulls my mind to him."

"Fascinating. I've never heard of anything like that happening before."

That comment made Harry grimace. "That's the story of my life—stuff that's never happened before."

Salazar laughed. "It seems to have worked in your favour so far."

"Great. So now I'm overdue for it to work against me."

"Whatever happened to Gryffindor optimism?"

"I don't think I'm really the best person to tell you that."

"And why is that, lion cub?"

Harry gave him a blank look. "Didn't you know?"

"Know what?"

"I wasn't really supposed to be a Gryffindor." Harry couldn't fight the smirk that came over his face.

"Ah, that. Yes, I did know that. You would have made an excellent addition to my House."

Harry blushed. "Thank you, sir."

Yes, Harry definitely deserved whatever protection Salazar could give. He would have to find out what his heir was up to regarding the boy. "So, you can meet with Tom whenever you want?"

"Well, I can ask him to meet with me. He hasn't said no yet, and I don't think he would without a good reason."

"I want you to request a meeting with him this evening. It's been many years since Tom and I last spoke, and I would like very much to see him again. Ask him to come to the Chamber on Christmas Eve."

"Can he do that, sir? What about the Hogwarts wards?"

"The wards are strong, but Hogwarts cannot deny entry to one of her own, and I control who may and may not enter the Chamber. Some precautions will need to be taken, but Tom is quite capable of seeing to those himself."

"I'll ask him tonight, and I'll let you know tomorrow."

"Now, back to your original problem."

"You mean the Christmas present? It sounds like you knew Tom quite well, do you have any ideas?"

"I'm sure you have already figured out that it cannot be anything purchased in Hogsmeade or by owl catalogue."

"Of course not! Tom would want something unique."

"Have you considered that it does not have to be a material possession? Tom is quite wealthy, and can easily buy whatever material things he wants. You should give him something unique, perhaps something that only you can give."

"Something only I could give…what do I have that Tom might want? The Invisibility Cloak? No, you said not something material, and besides, if Dumbledore can become invisible without one, Tom certainly can. Maybe something I could accomplish for him? But what could I do that he couldn't do himself?"

"I think you're getting closer, little lion. Keep thinking about it, you'll come up with something. Don't forget to pass on my request to Tom." And with that, the apparition vanished, leaving Harry once again alone in the Chamber library.

Harry smiled, thinking about where he was. He was in the Chamber of Secrets, talking with the spirit of Salazar Slytherin and practicing Dark magic. If the Order only knew…

Wait! The Order! Harry wasn't a member yet, so he didn't know everything about it, but he did know quite a bit, including some things he was fairly certain Snape didn't know. That was it, the answer! He'd write a list of everything he knew about the Order, who was in it, what their goals were, their recent missions that he'd overhead people discussing, and some of the codes they used. He couldn't give away the location of the Order's headquarters, but he could give hints. He got out a fresh sheet of parchment and a new quill and started writing notes for his task. He grinned. This would make Tom so happy.

Several hours later, Harry was rubbing his stiff, ink-stained fingers and feeling quite triumphant. He'd filled up over ten feet of parchment with carefully organized information about the Order of the Phoenix, including information on Professor Dumbledore. He rolled up the parchment, conjured a green and silver ribbon, and tied the ribbon around the parchment. He decided to leave the parchment on an empty shelf in the Chamber library. Salazar wouldn't let anything happen to it, and Harry didn't want to take any risk, however small, of someone else finding it. Satisfied that Tom's Christmas present was taken care of, Harry decided to go up to dinner.

After dinner, Harry went back up to his dorm and read the last chapter of Twilight Spells. Then he spent a couple hours practicing some of the calmer, less destructive spells from the book. When he thought it was late enough, he sent a non-verbal message to Tom, asking for a meeting. After about forty-five minutes, he got a feeling of acceptance. Harry went to sleep immediately, and quickly found himself in the familiar surroundings of Tom's study. He took his usual seat while saying "Good evening, Tom."

"And to you, Harry. I trust you have been enjoying your Christmas holidays?"

"Absolutely. It's such a relief to not be constantly worried about who's watching me. I've had a lot of time to spend in the Chamber and study."

"How are you coming along with those two books?"

"I'm almost finished with Twilight Spells. There was one that I had a question about though."

"Oh? Which one?"

"Sansperare. I can't quite get the wand movement right. The spell keeps coming out a pale yellow instead of a bright orange like the book says it should be."

"I see. You must not be completing the downward left sweep before the flick and jab. Here, let me show you." Tom stood up and pulled out his wand, the thirteen inch yew stick that was the brother of Harry's own. "Come here and stand by me," Tom said imperiously. Harry did as he was told. "Now put your hand on my wand, right here under mine. I'll guide your hand through the proper movement." Harry was shocked, both by the close physical proximity and by Tom allowing Harry to touch his wand. Tom slowly moved Harry's hand through the correct motions, and Harry immediately saw what he'd been doing wrong. As Tom had said, his downward sweep had been cut off too quickly. Tom moved Harry's hand again, faster, and Harry concentrated on the point where he had been making his mistake. Then Tom let go, leaving Harry holding the wand. "Show me that you can do it by yourself now," Tom said. Harry put the wand through the proper motions for the spell, but did not say the incantation, knowing that without his physical body he was unable to cast any spells. "Again," Tom said. Harry did it again, a little bit faster. "Once more, quickly," Tom said. Harry did it as quickly as he could this time. "Excellent," Tom said, smiling approvingly. "When you return to your body, I think you will find yourself able to cast the spell without trouble."

"Thank you Tom!" Harry said, and while handing Tom's wand back to him, kissed Tom's cheek. Harry knew Tom had just shown an extraordinary amount of trust, letting Harry hold his wand, even if Harry couldn't do anything with it, and Harry wanted to show how much he appreciated that. After doing so, Harry returned to his chair, only blushing a little.

For a moment, that action caused Tom to freeze. He knew Potter was attracted to him, but he never thought the boy might actually do something like that! He also returned to his chair, and quickly hid his discomfort by changing the subject back to the spell. "Sansperare, though simple, can be one of the most useful spells in any Dark wizard's arsenal. Do you know why?"

Harry also seemed relieved to resume the conversation as though nothing had happened. "Well, it causes your enemy to lose hope."

"And why would that be so important?"

"People are strongly affected by what they believe they can and cannot do. Part of what gives _you_ your strength is that you don't believe there is anything you cannot do. I used to be, and probably still am, limited by my belief that there are many things I can't do. In a duel, if your enemy loses hope, they will believe that they cannot defeat you. If they believe they cannot defeat you, they may stop trying. Muggles call that a 'self-fulfilling prophecy.' If you use it on an enemy outside of a duel, for a long term, they could easily be driven to suicide. Someone you are torturing for information may lose hope in being rescued, or lose hope that their side can ever win the war, and may give in more easily."

"Very good, my little serpent." Tom honestly was impressed at the boy's insightfulness and understanding. "Now, if you have no other questions about spells," Tom paused until Harry shook his head no, "what is the latest news from Dumbledore?"

"He met with me one more time before the holidays. He finally introduced the idea of your Horcruxes, but he did not explain anything about them."

"How did he introduce the subject?"

"He showed me a memory of you at Hogwarts, a memory taken from Professor Slughorn. But Slughorn didn't give Dumbledore the whole thing. He edited out certain parts."

"I assume you refer to the memory of me asking my dear head of house about Horcruxes?"

"Yes, that was the one. But Slughorn edited out everything in between you asking the question and him telling you to go to bed."

"Did Dumbledore give you any further information after viewing the memory?"

"No, none at all," Harry said, somewhat indignantly. "He told me that he wants me to somehow get the original memory from Slughorn, and that when I get it, I'll know what a Horcrux is."

Tom looked at Harry over elegantly steepled fingers. "Do you have any idea how to go about retrieving the memory?"

Harry looked surprised. "I hadn't really thought about it. Dumbledore obviously already knows what a Horcrux is, so that can't be the only thing he wants from the memory. There must be some other information, something Dumbledore doesn't already know, and I assumed you wouldn't want him to know it. I wasn't going to put any serious effort into the task."

"That will do for now, but Dumbledore will expect results from you. If he does not get them, he may suspect that you are not really trying."

"Then what should I do?"

"I will think on it further."

"You were brilliant, by the way," Harry said suddenly.

"What?" said Tom, wondering where that had come from.

"In the memory. You manipulated the Head of Slytherin House like it was nothing. You had him eating out of your hand. I was impressed."

Tom was pleased by the compliment, as he hadn't been pleased by any other compliments he'd heard for a very long time. It must just be because this compliment was offered in full sincerity, without any sycophantic desire to flatter. "Thank you, Harry."

"You're welcome." There was a moment of semi-awkward silence.

"Oh! Salazar wants to see you," Harry said finally.

"Really? Did he say what it was concerning?"

"Nope, only that he hasn't seen you in a long time. I guess he misses you."

"Tell him that I shall consider it, and I will decide within the next few days."

"Will do."

"Is there anything else?" Tom asked.

Harry thought for a moment. "No, that's everything for tonight."

"Then let us say goodnight now. I will speak with you again shortly."

"Goodnight Tom," Harry said. "I look forward to it." Harry's presence left the room, and Tom found himself thinking that he looked forward to it, too. He pushed it out of his mind as an automatic response to what Harry had said, and then went to sleep himself.

Two nights later, Tom drew Harry to his side for a short meeting. "Good evening, my little serpent. I do not have much time this evening, so I will come straight to the point. Tell Salazar that I will grant his request. Meet me tomorrow evening at midnight, in the Chamber."

Harry smiled at the thought of actually seeing Tom in person. "I will. Goodnight, Tom. See you tomorrow."


	11. Chapter 11

I seem to be spending a lot of time apologizing for my tardiness in updating…this time, it was because my computer died, completely.  Luckily, I backup all my files…

Chapter 11

On Christmas Eve, Harry woke full of excitement about actually seeing Tom in person. He started out the morning trying to study, but he was too excited to really concentrate, so he worked off some energy by going out on his Firebolt until lunch time. He came back to the castle to eat lunch, and after lunch practiced more Dark spells in the Room of Requirement. He ate a light dinner, and then decided to spend the rest of the evening in the Chamber waiting for Tom. When he entered the Chamber, Salazar was once again waiting for him. Harry informed the spirit that Tom would be arriving at midnight, and then entered the library and sat down on one of the armchairs. The library's fireplace roared to life as soon as Harry sat down. Unfortunately, his plan to spend the day working off excess energy had worked a little too well, and Harry quickly fell asleep.

He was awoken several hours later by a wet nose nudging against his face. He opened his eyes to see a gigantic ebony panther with its front paws resting on his shoulders and its back paws resting on the ground. Harry screamed in shock, but didn't try to move. The panther transformed into a smirking Tom, who was in the same position the panther had been in seconds before. Tom had decided to return Harry's favour from the other night, and he leaned in and kissed Harry on the cheek. "Happy Christmas," he said, and then levered himself gracefully up and moved to sit in the chair opposite Harry's.

"Happy Christmas, Tom" Harry responded. "Was there any reason for coming in your animagus form, other than startling me, that is?"

"I decided to take a page out of your godfather's book. Though I cannot be kept out of Hogwarts, nor can you, the wards Dumbledore has placed on the Hogwarts grounds would alert him to the presence of Lord Voldemort in the castle. An innocent panther, however, is just one more creature in the forest. Then here in the Chamber, it was safe to resume my usual form, as Salazar built this place to be slightly separate from the main castle, and he still controls the wards."

"Oh. That makes sense." Harry paused. "I wouldn't have expected you to be a panther."

"No?" Tom said, raising an eyebrow in an invitation for Harry to elaborate.

"No," Harry affirmed. "I would have expected you to be a snake, although I guess that is a bit narrow-minded of me. It suits you, though. Being a panther, I mean."

"You think so?" Tom was amused. "Why is that?"

Harry blushed. "Well, there's the obvious, that you have dark hair like a panther's fur. You're graceful, just like a panther, and you can hide in the shadows until you attack. And of course, you're very powerful and dangerous."

Tom smiled. Though he would never admit it, he absolutely loved hearing sincere compliments, and he while he had certainly heard more eloquent praise than Harry's, he had never heard it given with such absolute sincerity. Spending time with Potter was certainly good for his ego. "I assume that you've read the book about becoming an animagus by now?"

"Yes," Harry answered. "But I've been focusing more on the Dark spells, so I haven't made a lot of progress."

"There is another book on the subject that you might find useful. It describes the process of finding your inner animal in much richer detail. It was, in fact, written by Hogwarts' own Minerva McGonagall."

"Really? Professor McGonagall wrote a book? I guess it makes sense; she is an animagus and the Transfiguration professor. But I assume it's not in the Chamber library, since it's much too new for that, and it's probably in the Restricted Section of the regular school library. I could probably get permission to take it out, but I don't want anyone to know I'm studying this. I suppose I could order it, but owl post doesn't always stay confidential."

"And the Ministry requires book stores to report any sales of that book, due to the legal restrictions on becoming an animagus. I doubt you want the Ministry aware of what you are attempting."

"Not in the least," Harry agreed. "I guess it's something to think over, and in the meantime I'll keep trying with the book you suggested. I probably just need to focus a little more." Then Harry smiled, having just remembered the beribboned parchment he had left on the otherwise empty shelf. "Be right back," he said, and got up and went to the shelf where he had left the scroll, ignoring Tom's question of where Harry was going. He retrieved the parchment and came back to the armchairs in front of the fireplace. Now, looking into Tom's puzzled eyes, he was a little bit nervous. "Um…I hope you don't mind, but I…erm…got you something for Christmas. Well, not _got_ you, exactly, I didn't think you'd want anything I could buy, so it's something I made, sort of, or I guess something I did for you. So um…Happy Christmas, Tom." Harry thrust the rolled up parchment into Tom's hands.

Tom was taken by surprise. It hadn't occurred to him at all that Harry would give him a Christmas gift. It took him a moment to accept the parchment from Harry, and as he untied the ribbon and unrolled the scroll, he was still rather bemused. When he finished opening the scroll and realized what it was, surprise turned to complete shock. Whatever he had been expecting to see written on the scroll, this wasn't it. Harry had made a list of everything he knew about the Order, which turned out to be quite a bit. The information was also neatly written and well organized, and he had already spotted several things Severus had not been able to tell him in his quick scan of the list.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked nervously.

Tom quickly recovered from his shock, and smiled his most brilliant beaming smile at Harry. He had shown that smile to a few others before, but it had always been done intentionally. This time, the smile had just come over his face, before he could even begin to control it. "It's perfect, Harry," he said. "I am truly impressed by the depth of the information. It will be exceedingly useful."

Harry beamed back at Tom, as Tom re-rolled the parchment and re-tied the ribbon. Tom continued, "I shall look at this in detail when I return home. But I find myself now feeling a bit embarrassed. I am unprepared to reciprocate your gesture."

"Huh? Oh, I didn't expect you to at all," Harry said honestly. "I mean, you've given me so much already, talking to me and teaching me, and I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate it."

"I understand, Harry. Still, it is Christmas, and it would be inappropriate not to give a gift in return." He pondered for a moment, and then his face lit up as he thought of an answer. "Here is what I shall give you in return—I know you are concerned for the safety of your friends and allies. Write a list of five people, the five people that you hold most dear, and when you have written the list, inform me of your choices. Those five people will be given an amnesty, and I promise that neither I nor my servants will ever intentionally harm them, not physically, mentally, or magically." Tom was in such a good mood that he thought he might even keep that promise. The only two people who absolutely had to die were Dumbledore and Potter himself. Dumbledore was no longer in Potter's good graces, and Potter, noble Gryffindor that he was, would never even consider putting _himself_ on that list.

"Thank you Tom!" Harry exclaimed, and threw his arms around Tom in a forceful hug. Tom returned the hug a bit gingerly, and then extricated himself while saying "Choose carefully, Harry. I'm sure you know that your decision is final, and I will not allow you to change your mind."

Just then, the spirit of Salazar entered the room. "Happy Christmas, Tom, Harry," he said.

"Happy Christmas, Salazar," Harry responded automatically.

"Good evening, sir," was Tom's more formal response.

Harry yawned, and Salazar decided that was the perfect opening. "I think you must be tired, lion cub. Why don't you go on up to bed? I need to speak with Tom privately."

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I am pretty sleepy. Goodnight, Tom, and thank you again for the gift. I'll let you know soon. Goodnight, Salazar." With those words, Harry whispered "§exit,§" and vanished from the Chamber.

"So, Tom," Salazar began again after Harry left. "Friends with the Boy-Who-Lived? The one who defeated you fifteen years ago, and the only one with the power to do it again? I admit that it has been some years since we last saw each other, but that doesn't really seem like you. Nor would I expect Harry to be so magnanimous as to simply forget about your past deeds against him. I do believe there is more to this situation than Harry is currently aware of. What are you plotting, my heir?"

Tom's lips dipped into a brief smirk. "It seems it is true that one can never fool a Slytherin. But before I answer you, why do you wish to know? Do you not have confidence in my abilities?"

"You have proven yourself quite a capable and competent wizard. Partly, I am simply curious as to how this came about. Partly, I wish to know if I might be of use to you in your plans."

"I daresay you're bored, my ancestor," Tom commented wryly.

"Perhaps I am, at that. Are you planning on explaining sometime tonight?"

Tom smiled. "It's a bit of a long story."

"My pressing social engagements will just have to wait, I suppose," Salazar shot back.

Tom sighed, and began. "You are aware, I think, of the mental link between myself and Harry created by the rebounded Avada Kedavra?"

Salazar nodded.

"Forgive me if I repeat anything you already know. I would prefer to be thorough. That link between myself and Harry used to make Harry feel extreme pain whenever I was near him. It also caused him to feel my emotions whenever they were particularly strong. At times, he would enter my mind and see through my eyes. None of this could be controlled by either of us, not even through Occlumency."

"Harry has told me as much. He said, and you implied, that something changed. He did not understand what had changed, or the reasons behind it. Do you?"

"As you may or may not know, Harry and I had another confrontation last June, at the Ministry of Magic. I used the link between us to send Harry a false vision of his godfather being tortured, so that the boy would come running to save the day. Harry arrived at the Ministry with five of his friends in tow. He and his friends fought against my Death Eaters, and they were on the brink of defeat when several members of the Order of the Phoenix appeared on the scene. The battle continued. Eventually, I went there myself, and shortly after my arrival, Dumbledore came. I dueled with my old Transfiguration professor, and at one point during the duel, I possessed Potter. I am still uncertain as to exactly what happened, and indeed I may never know, but during my possession of the boy, something about our link changed. Its colour in my mind, which used to be a sickly dull red, has become a vibrant green, and the change in colour happened at the exact moment that I possessed Potter. After that day, my presence no longer caused Potter any pain, nor do we ever share feelings involuntarily, unless we are in close proximity to each other and the emotion is particularly strong. Nor did Potter ever again enter my mind and see through my eyes. For over two months, I thought the link between us was no longer important, or even functional."

"Obviously something happened to prove you wrong," Salazar said, returning Tom's dry tone.

"Indeed, though it turned out to be most fortuitous. One night in September, Potter's mind was once again pulled to me. This time, however, he did not see through my eyes. He appeared in front of me, in an illusory body created by his mind. He did not immediately attack me, not even verbally. Instead, he looked at me in awe. Of course, I knew something had to be wrong. I used Legilimency and determined that the boy was under the influence of a rather powerful love potion, Erodition, I believe. A girl at school had gifted him with some contaminated snack cakes, and while the boy was not foolish enough to eat them immediately, he threw them into his trunk and forgot about them. Later that night, craving a midnight snack, he had consumed them, exhaustion having caused him to forget the danger. After eating them, he fell asleep. His mind was pulled to mine, and thus I was the first person he saw after consuming the potion."

Salazar nodded thoughtfully. "Erodition, you say? Yes, that would make sense. Still, that explains Potter's lack of animosity toward you. It does not explain yours toward him."

"My animosity toward Potter continues. I have simply decided to take advantage of this opportunity to use him for my own ends. I will make Potter believe I care for him in return, thereby cementing his loyalty. The boy is powerful, as I am sure you have noticed, and more intelligent than he chooses to show. I have already begun to teach him to use his true power, the way Dumbledore will not. Potter has, under my direction, been studying Parselmagic and Dark spells, right under Dumbledore's nose. He has already been most useful to me as a spy, and soon he will be my soldier as well. His power, joined with mine, will easily defeat Dumbledore and the rest of the Light. And when the battle is finished, when the world is mine, I will dispose of him."

"I see," Salazar replied, though with a slight quirk to his mouth.

Tom, of course, noticed the quirk. "There's something you're not saying. Do you see a fault in my plan?" he asked, though confident that his plan did _not_ have any faults.

"I do not see a fault in your plan. I am sure that you are aware that you are a truly gifted actor. Had you been born a muggle, I'm certain you could have pursued a career in the West End."

Tom gave a frustrated sigh. "What is your point?"

Salazar paused for a moment, considering how best to phrase his response. Finally, he said, "Simply this. We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be."(1)

Tom couldn't believe what his ancestor had just said. "Are—are you saying I might _actually_ be falling for the boy?" he said, his voice dripping with incredulity.

"Are you?" Salazar replied. The spirit then vanished from the room.

"Wait a minute!" Tom screamed, leaping to his feet. "Get back here you demented old revenant! How could you possibly even suggest something so—so—imbecilic! Lord Voldemort, falling for _Harry Potter_? Love is a weakness, an obstacle on the path to power, and even if I were prone to such a weakness, why on earth would it be for that dim-witted, empty-headed, self righteous, scruffy looking(2), tempestuous _Gryffindor_?"

But the only reply was the echoing of Tom's words across the Chamber. Tom sat back down in his chair, still grumbling. Was it possible? Could Salazar be even slightly right? He considered his tirade against the boy. Was Potter dim-witted? Empty-headed? Not in the slightest. He had to admit there were times when Harry's acumen truly impressed him. Self righteous? He had been in the past, but that seemed to be changing. Scruffy looking? He used to think so, but now Harry's unruly hair seemed to have a charm of its own. And the emerald eyes, so unlike any other eyes he had ever seen before, flashed with every emotion. Harry was not tall, but neither was he particularly short, and he had a youthful, athletic bod—Tom decided to cut off that thought before it could be finished. Tempestuous? That was one adjective that indisputably described Harry. That wasn't necessarily bad, though. Anger fed power, and Tom himself had a temper that could move mountains.

So the boy wasn't all that bad. But that still didn't mean that Tom was actually attracted to him. He considered it very carefully. If he was becoming attracted to Potter, that meant he would have to abort the plan and simply kill the boy the next time he had the chance. (His mind did not register the small twinge in his chest at that thought.) He would not allow himself any weaknesses, and emotional attachment was one of the worst weaknesses possible.

No, he finally decided. Salazar was wrong. He was not becoming attached to Potter. He appreciated what the boy did for him, and would do for him in the future. He valued the boy as a useful tool, and nothing more. Potter was just another tool, and he would be used and then discarded when he was no longer needed. He relaxed and smiled. His plan was still going well. He shifted back into the shape of a panther, and then headed back toward Slytherin manor.

Back in the Chamber, Salazar chuckled slightly. He had watched Tom interact with Harry, and unless he was very much mistaken, there was genuine attraction between them, and not just the effects of a love potion. And now the seed had been planted in Tom's mind. He would continue to encourage the idea, very subtly. Eventually, Tom would no longer desire to kill Harry. Salazar could protect the last scion of the Gryffindor line without sacrificing the plans of his own heir. And together, the two would be the greatest wizards the world had ever seen.

1. Quote from Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night.

2. It was really difficult not to insert 'nerf-herder.' Tee hee.


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks again to everyone who reviewed! Updates should be back to a fairly regular schedule now. :)

Chapter 12

Harry spent the rest of the holiday studying, though most of the time was spent on legitimate school subjects. He wanted to be sure that he could stay ahead in all of his classes, after all. When the holidays finished and school resumed, Harry felt confident that he knew all the material for the next three months, until Easter holidays. He was currently standing outside waiting for the carriages to arrive, bringing the other students back from the Hogsmeade train station. Presently, the carriages rose over the hill and entered the castle gates. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny alighted from the same carriage, and all three looked quite eager to see him. "Hey," he called out to them in greeting.

"Hi Harry! Thank you so much for the hat, gloves, and scarf, they're beautiful! How was your holiday?" Ginny asked. Harry noted that both she and Hermione were wearing his Christmas presents.

"Pretty good," Harry answered. "I got a lot of studying done."

"Good for you," said Hermione, beaming with approval. "Oh, Harry, Ginny and I need to go to the loo. Could you and Ron carry our bags up to the tower please? Thank you!" she said, and without waiting for a response, she and Ginny thrust their bags at himself and Ron and ran off into the castle, leaving the boys alone together. Harry inwardly groaned at the obvious set up, and decided to cut right to the chase.

"What's on your mind, Ron?" he asked bluntly.

Ron blushed, seeing that Harry had obviously not fallen for the ploy. "I need to apologize," he said. "Again."

Harry slung Hermione's bag over his shoulder while Ron did the same with Ginny's. They both began walking back into the castle. "What for?" Harry asked.

"I've been a real git to you lately, avoiding you just because you're…you know…" his voice trailed off.

"Gay?" Harry put in helpfully.

"Yeah, that. Look, we've spent Christmas together every year since we were eleven years old, and it just didn't really feel like Christmas without you there. The whole time it felt like there was something missing, and not just to me, but to Ginny, Fred and George, and my parents. You can say all you want that you stayed at Hogwarts because you wanted to study, and maybe it's true, but we both know that it was also because of how I've been acting around you, and I'm sorry." Ron looked down after saying this, nervous about Harry's reaction.

For a moment, Harry didn't really know what to say. Ron was his friend. A year ago he would have said without hesitation that Ron was his best friend. But the two had grown apart, and it was obvious to Harry, at least. Finally, he decided to just let it go. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Ready for Quidditch practice on Tuesday?"

Ron smiled and replied, obviously relieved that Harry wasn't going to make a big deal of the issue. The two boys continued chatting about their favourite sport all the way up to Gryffindor tower. There they met up with Hermione and Ginny, who both smiled smugly at the sight of Harry and Ron chatting amiably again. Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled, too, and the four Gryffindors went down to dinner together. Harry noticed that Ron still looked wistfully at Hermione, but he no longer tried to approach her.

That night after dinner, Harry was sitting in the common room studying another carefully concealed Dark Arts book from the Chamber library. Ron, he noticed, no longer saw his spell-disguised books as erotic magazines, which made him feel better, knowing that his friend really had come to terms with the revelation of Harry's sexuality. Suddenly, he remembered Tom's suggestion to find a way to get Professor McGonagall's book, and he had an idea. "Hermione," he said quietly, careful not to draw Ron's attention away from his conversation with Dean about the Chudley Cannons.

"Yes Harry?" she responded just as quietly, picking up on Harry's desire to keep the conversation private.

"I need a small favour," he said.

"What is it?" she asked, looking concerned.

"Well—I'd really like to follow in my father's and Sirius' footsteps…or rather, paw prints."

Hermione gasped.

"I thought about how useful it was for Sirius, and even for Rita Skeeter, and I realized that it could probably also get me out of a few scrapes. But if anyone knew about it, it wouldn't be much of an advantage anymore."

"That's a good point, Harry. So what do you need me to do?"

"The books in the school library are all in the Restricted Section. I can't get to them without at least one teacher finding out, and Madame Pince as well. Plus, someone might see me checking them out. Professor McGonagall wrote a book on the subject that's supposed to be really good, but bookstores have to report it to the Ministry whenever someone buys it."

"So you want me to order it for you?"

"Yes, please, if you wouldn't mind. Maybe you could order four or five other books on advanced Transfiguration subjects, too, so that it's less noticeable. I'll pay for all of it."

"Harry, you don't have to buy me any books," Hermione protested.

"But you're doing me a huge favour, and besides, even if they're books you want, you're still ordering them because of me. If it'll make you feel better, you can lend them to me after you finish reading them."

"Alright," Hermione said smiling.

"Great. Can you go get that catalogue I know you have, from Flourish and Blotts?"

They ordered the animagus book, and together picked out five others. Harry tried to choose books he thought Hermione would like, while Hermione tried to do the same for Harry, so the process ended up taking some time. When they were finally finished, Harry gave Hermione the money, and they sent a school owl off with the order. Hermione then went back to her homework, and Harry decided to do some studying of his own.

Although Harry had made quite a bit of progress with Dark spells, he had come to realize something. If he really wanted to help Tom, there were three specific spells that he needed to know. The Unforgiveables. Crucio, Imperio, and Avada Kedavra. By now, Harry had studied enough about Dark spells to know why his ill-conceived attempt at the torture curse had failed. As Bellatrix Lestrange had put it, "You have to mean them." There were lots of curses that could cause pain or kill. There were several potions that could control a person's mind, and spells that could control their body. The reason these three curses in particular were the Unforgiveables was not their effects. Or at least, not solely their effects. The main reason was because of the emotions needed for the spells. To cast the Imperius Curse, you had to have a desire to dominate; to utterly control another being. To use the Cruciatus Curse, you had to want to cause pain. You had to truly want your victim to suffer, and you had to sadistically enjoy it. And to cast the killing curse, you had to know what death truly meant. You had to understand what it was to end a person's life prematurely, all the other lives that would be torn apart, all the severed possibilities, and want to do it anyway. None of the three could be cast in innocence.

But he didn't consider himself an innocent anymore. He was not a child. He had seen battle, and he had seen death. He knew what it was to be lied to and manipulated. The illusions of his childhood had been shattered, and he knew that regardless of what side he was on, if he wanted to survive, he was going to have to get his hands dirty. Yes, he was going to have to start practicing the Unforgiveables.

Having decided to do it, he didn't really want to wait to begin. So he yawned convincingly, stretched, and told his friends he fancied a long bath in the prefect's bathroom. He went to his dormitory and gathered his bathing supplies for verisimilitude, waved goodbye to Hermione and Ron, and left the Gryffindor common room. Once away from prying eyes, he pictured the Chamber's main room in his mind and whispered "§enter.§"

Arriving in the Chamber, he put down his bath supplies in the library, then re-entered the main room. He estimated that he had about an hour, maybe an hour and a half, before somebody got worried and went looking for him. Salazar didn't seem to be in the Chamber at the moment, so he got right to work. Copying the ersatz Moody's example, he conjured a large spider and Immobilized it. He decided to begin with Crucio. He had attempted it before, after all, and he wanted to someday be able to show the Lestrange bitch just how well she had taught him. He gathered together all of his negative emotions, his pain, envy, sorrow, and most especially anger. He thought about all the times he had been hurt, and how badly he had wanted to take revenge. Finally, he pointed his wand at the spider and yelled "Crucio!"

The spider twitched a bit, and rolled over, but nothing more. He tried again, putting more anger into the spell. That time, the twitching lasted a little longer. He continued to make attempts, but while he got a little closer each time, the spell still did not have the desired effect. "What am I doing wrong?" he muttered to himself. "I'm angry. I want to hurt something. I mean it. Why isn't the spell working?"

"Perhaps because some part of you still expects it to fail," Salazar's voice came from seemingly nowhere.

Harry turned around to find Salazar standing right behind him. "What do you mean by that?" Harry snapped, still filled with anger.

"You have spent all of your life as a wizard being held up as an icon of the Light. People have expected you, and you have expected yourself, to be a noble, self-sacrificing hero, who would never even consider using a Dark spell, regardless of what situation he found himself in. While you've begun to break out of that role, it's still a part of you, telling you that you're not the kind of person who can use a torture curse."

"But I've tried it before, on a person, even. Wouldn't that mean I know that I am the type of person who can use a torture curse?"

"Was the spell successful?" Salazar asked pointedly.

"Well—no," Harry admitted.

"So that simply adds to your subconscious belief that you cannot do it."

"Then what do you suggest I do?" Harry said icily.

"You're angry. That's good. You know that you must feel anger and hatred to cast the spell. I think you simply need a bit more confidence. Try imagining the effects of the spell. Think of someone you hate. Picture them suffering the effects of the spell. Imagine looking down the end of your wand and seeing them writhe in agony. Think of how powerful it makes you feel, of how much you enjoy it."

Harry did as the spirit suggested. He pictured Dudley, cruelly mocking Harry the way he had when they were children. He thought of how he would've liked to hurt the immensely large boy back. He pictured himself drawing his wand and pointing it right at Dudley's ugly face. Just as Dudley's fist began to pull back for a punch, Harry yelled "Crucio!" In his rather vivid fantasy, Dudley's eyes grew wider as he saw the dull-red spell coming toward him, and he crumpled to the ground when the spell hit him. He screamed and moaned, twitching on the floor. Harry felt gleeful satisfaction at the image. It was just like the fantasies he used to have as a child—except that now he had the power to make it come true. He smiled, understanding what Salazar had meant. He pointed his wand at the spider again. Keeping his mind on the feeling he got from picturing Dudley under the curse, he said again, "Crucio."

Now the spider writhed and twitched, its legs all crumpling underneath it. It continued its contortions until Harry moved his wand, releasing the spell. While his previous attempts had made him tired, this time it left him feeling breathless and exhilarated.

He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. "Very good, lion cub," Salazar said. "With time and practice, you will find that the necessary emotions come to you more easily, and you will not need so much focus and concentration. Do it again, several more times, to help yourself become accustomed to the feeling."

Harry complied, casting the curse ten more times. Two times, the curse did not have a full effect, but it was still strong, and so Harry did not lose confidence. Then he noticed that he didn't have much time left before his friends would expect him back.

"Salazar?" he began. "Is there a bathroom down here?"

"What?" Salazar answered, seeming startled by the question.

"A bathroom. I told my friends that I was going to take a bath so that I could get away for a while. So it wouldn't work out very well if I came back completely dry and still dirty."

"It seems you did not think this plan through all the way," Salazar replied, sounding amused.

"I suppose not," Harry said. "Now is there a bathroom or not?"

"Not. I designed this Chamber as a home for the basilisk" he paused to glare at Harry for a moment, "and a safe repository of knowledge that many Light wizards would like to see destroyed."

"I _am_ sorry about your basilisk," Harry said. "But she was trying to kill me at the time."

"Why didn't you just tell her to stop it?"

"Tom told me that it wouldn't work."

"And you took his word for it?" Salazar asked incredulously. "You didn't even try to speak to her?"

"You're saying that she would have listened?" Harry asked, just as incredulous.

Salazar sighed. "Harry, you should know by now that no serpent would ever intentionally harm a Parselmouth. Had you said so much as 'hello' to her, she would have immediately ceased attacking you."

"Oops."

Salazar snorted. "Oops, he says. As if that makes everything okay. Well, I suppose I can forgive you for being a scared child and acting without thinking. But I expect you to bring me a replacement someday."

"Use the Imperius curse to make a toad sit on a chicken's egg. Got it. Hagrid, the groundskeeper, has a chicken coop that I can get into pretty easily, and my roommate Neville loses his toad all the time. I can 'borrow' it for a while without him ever noticing. Erm—does the toad have to sit on the egg for all twenty-one days, or only when the egg actually hatches?"

"I am not certain. I believe it would be sufficient to have the toad over the egg for twenty-four hours, although if that does not work, you can use the chick for practicing your curses and try again."

Harry chuckled a bit. "That's true. And I will attempt it soon. But for now, I need to get going, and that means I need to make it look like I took a bath."

Salazar smiled. "I'll leave you to it, then. And Harry? Be careful. If anyone sees you with a chicken egg and a toad, it wouldn't take Dumbledore to put two and two together. Don't let yourself be seen. If you find that you cannot do it now without arousing suspicion, simply wait." With those words, the spirit vanished, and Harry was alone in the Chamber.

Well, if there wasn't a bathroom in the Chamber, Harry would just have to make one. First, he conjured a large tub. Then he used the Aguamenti spell to fill the tub. Another quick spell made the water comfortably hot. He'd brought shampoo, soap, and a towel with him. Feeling slightly awkward, Harry stripped out of his clothes and got into his self-made bathtub. He cleaned himself quickly, knowing that he didn't have much time left. He'd already been gone for over an hour. Finishing his bath, he got dressed again and banished his conjurations. He put on the Invisibility Cloak that he now always carried with him. That was one good piece of advice from Dumbledore, anyway. Picturing the seventh floor room that he usually used when coming back from the Chamber, he whispered "§exit.§"

As he stepped through the portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room, he saw Hermione working on homework while Ron sat a respectful distance away, playing Exploding Snap with Seamus. "Harry!" Hermione called. "We were just starting to wonder what was taking you so long."

"Oh, sorry," Harry said cheerfully. "I had to wait for a little while—someone else was in there when I got there."

"Hey Harry," Ron called. Do you wanna play with us?" he asked, motioning to the deck of cards.

"Sure," Harry said, and he sat down with Ron and Seamus.

Several rounds later, Harry found himself with singed eyebrows, waving off offers for another game. "I think I'm going to go to bed now," he said. "Goodnight guys. Goodnight Hermione."

"Goodnight Harry," Hermione responded absently, chewing on the end of her quill, obviously deep in thought. For a moment, Harry wondered if she was bothered by Harry's new academic success. For five years at Hogwarts, he'd been dependent on her for information. She'd definitely been the 'brains of the outfit,' so to speak. Now Harry, at least, no longer needed her help. But if she was jealous or put off by it, she wasn't acting on those feelings. Harry didn't think she was. When they worked together in class, she always just seemed genuinely proud of him. She really was a great friend.

That night after going to sleep, he found himself unexpectedly in Tom's presence again.

"Good evening," he greeted.

"Good evening," Tom replied, smiling. "How are you this evening?"

"Pretty good," Harry responded automatically. "Is there any special reason you wanted to see me?"

"Why Harry," Tom said, pouting. "Can't I see you just because I want to spend time with you?"

"You could," Harry replied cheekily, "but you're a Slytherin, so I doubt you would."

"You wound me," Tom countered, his already extended bottom lip jutting out even further.

Harry had an immediate desire to put that bottom lip in between his own lips and kiss away the pout. He ignored it, but he couldn't help staring for a moment. "Sure I do. Well, then, should we play Exploding Snap? Or discuss England's chances for the Quidditch Cup this year?"

Tom laughed. "All right, I did have a reason for bringing you here tonight. In my defence, however, it was for your benefit."

"My benefit? What do you mean?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow in a gesture that unconsciously mimicked Tom.

"I wanted to ask if you had made any further progress in your Animagus transformation."

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, Tom. I did ask Hermione to order that book you mentioned for me tonight, but other than that, I haven't really gotten any farther. I can get into a trance well enough, but I just can't seem to find my animal form. Maybe I just don't have one."

"Of course you do, Harry. All wizards and witches of a certain power level have one. Tell me, have you seen or felt _anything_ in your trance?"

"Once or twice, I felt like there was something approaching me, but it vanished before I could get any closer."

"I see. That may be your problem. In your trance, you must allow the animal to come to you. Much like a wand, the animagus form chooses the wizard."

"I know," Harry sighed. It's just that in the trance, I get excited, and I want to run out and meet the animal, and I can't stop myself."

"Aha. That would be it, then. You're not completely letting go of control." He paused a moment. "I think I can assist you."

"How?" Harry asked, just a little bit suspicious. He cared for and trusted Tom, but for most of his life, he had lacked control, and so he remained hesitant to relinquish what control he did have to another person.

Tom didn't respond immediately, instead he stood up, drew his wand, and Transfigured his arm chair into a love seat. "Come sit here by me, Harry," he said gently.

Harry was conflicted. On the one hand, he was thrilled to be so close to Tom. On the other, he was a little bit hesitant about what Tom might want to do. He stood up and brought himself slowly over to Tom's side, sitting down somewhat gingerly.

"Relax, Harry," Tom said, taking the seat next to Harry on the armchair-turned-loveseat. "I'm just going to help you get into a trance deep enough to find your form. Or rather, for your form to find you. I won't take advantage of you, and I'll bring you out as soon as we're done, alright?"

"Alright," Harry agreed, relaxing into the sofa.

"Excellent, my little serpent. Let's begin." Tom started speaking in his most soothing voice, a voice that could (and had) assuaged wrathful Professors, jealous admirers, and angry animals alike. Harry did not escape its soothing charm. Tom continued talking, and he gently stroked Harry's arm, feeling the toned muscles just underneath the skin. As Tom continued his ministrations, Harry fell further and further into his trance. Finally, sensing that Harry was fully entranced, Tom ceased talking. He did, however, continue stroking Harry's arm. Just to make sure Potter didn't lose the trance because of the loss of the sensation, of course. He waited about ten minutes, never ceasing his touching of Harry's arm. At the end of ten minutes, he felt a surge of elation coming through their link, and he knew that Harry had been successful. A moment later, Harry's eyes opened up.

"Well?" he said expectantly.

Harry blinked. "I'm not sure if this is right, or even possible," he said.

"Why? What did you see?" Tom asked, quite confused.

"Well—a panther."

Now it was Tom's turn to blink in surprise. "Are you sure?" he asked dumbly.

"Of course I'm sure!" Harry said indignantly. "But maybe I wasn't really in a trance. Maybe it just came into my mind because I was thinking of you, and it's not really my animal after all."

"No, when you are this close to me, in mind at least, I can sense your general state of mind. You were certainly in a trance."

"But how is that possible, for us to have the same animal? I thought that almost never happened," Harry said, still uncertain.

"I suppose it could be because of our link, but that is unlikely. Your personality and magic are still yours, and that is what determines ones totem animal."

"But a panther suits you! It doesn't really suit me at all."

Tom smirked, suddenly finding humour in the situation. "I believe I have told you before that the similarities between us are rather striking. Whatever Dumbledore might have told you to the contrary, you _are_ like me, Harry."

"I am, I know. But the same animal? Really, Tom? It's just not anything I would have expected."

"Expected or not, I believe it is the correct animal for you, as well."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"To begin with the superficial characteristic that you pointed out whilst discussing me, you also have dark hair, like a panther's fur. To delve more deeply, you do not care for the spotlight, and would prefer to remain unseen in the shadows. When you feel there is need, you will attack fiercely and without hesitation, but without using any more force than is necessary to overcome your foes. You are solitary and territorial. You do not appreciate others invading your space, and while you can and do welcome the presence of others, you also need a good deal of time by yourself. Finally, while you are somewhat awkward and clumsy now, that is normal for a young man, or a panther cub. I myself was somewhat prone to awkwardness at your age. It was a weakness that I overcame as I grew older, and spending time as a panther certainly helped. I believe the same will hold true for you, and you will grow into a natural grace and poise."

Harry didn't really know how to respond to that, and before he could think of something to say, Tom moved the conversation along. "Do you know why it usually takes a person so long to become an animagus, Harry?" he asked.

The book he'd read had taught Harry at least that much. "First, you have to research the animal very thoroughly. You have to know and understand every part of its anatomy. Then, you begin transforming small parts of your body individually. This helps you become used to the sensation of your body changing, builds your power, and gives you a chance to make sure you've got every part of the anatomy right. Meditation and research alone take most wizards and witches more than a year. Then practicing small parts of the Transformation and working up to the full change can take two to three years, depending on how powerful the witch or wizard in question is."

"So our unique situation will allow you to take a shortcut. The next time we are together in the physical world, I can simply enter your body and Transform. Then you will know the anatomy instinctually, and you will understand the sensation of Transforming. Your power is already sufficient; you have no need to build it up by practicing small steps. This would not be possible were we not the same animal and linked as we are." Tom sounded genuinely excited, and he realized that he actually felt excited as well. Well, he justified to himself, it was a fascinating magical situation, and Harry's panther form could prove quite useful.

But Harry frowned. "You're talking about possessing me."

"In a manner of speaking."

"The last time you did that it wasn't very pleasant for either of us."

"The last time I did that, something about our link changed. Your scar, for example, no longer hurts in my presence. Nor do you feel my emotions unless either I wish for you to, or we are close to each other and the emotion is especially strong. Most importantly, we no longer bear ill will for each other. I do not believe this will cause either of us any discomfort, but if it does, I shall withdraw immediately."

"You're still asking me to give you complete control over my body. I trust you, Tom, but it is a lot to ask."

"I'm doing this to help you, you know," Tom said icily, starting to lose patience. "If you would rather spend at least a year in tedious study time that you could otherwise use to study other powerful magics, suit yourself. It doesn't concern me."

Actually, it did concern him. The idea was fascinating, and Tom would hate to lose the opportunity to attempt such an interesting magical experiment. He would also prefer being able to continue training his little serpent in Dark magic. He simply knew that feigning apathy would help to persuade Harry that he had no ill intentions. And he didn't, at least, not right now. Harry responded just as Tom expected.

"Sorry, Tom, of course I want you to help me. And I appreciate your help."

"Of course, it will have to wait for a while. I cannot come to Hogwarts while school is back in session, especially not while Dumbledore is present. Nor can you vanish from school without causing more problems than the situation warrants."

"Maybe I could come to you during the Easter holidays. I decided to spend them at my friend Hermione's house, but there are two weeks. I could spend one week with her and one with you, and she won't ask too many questions, or tell anyone, if I tell her not to."

"You are not planning to confide your destination in your friend, I hope?" Tom asked. When Harry shook his head no, he continued. "Then it is an excellent idea." He paused for a moment, deciding whether or not to push Harry a little further. He decided to chance it. "Since we will have a week together, perhaps you might consent to spend some of that time assisting me with certain small tasks."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. Was Tom asking what Harry thought he was asking? "You mean—you want me to go out on missions for you—like a Death Eater?"

Tom decided he had pushed too far, and was about to capitulate when Harry continued. "Do you really think I'm ready for that?" he asked.

"I would not risk you on a task that I did not believe you could handle, nor would I leave you unsupported. I would like your aid in achieving my goals, but I will not chance losing you." That was true. Harry was much too valuable a tool to be carelessly lost.

"Tom, what exactly are your goals? All I've ever heard from people on the Light side is that you want to kill all muggleborns and half-bloods. But that can't really be all there is to it, and besides, you said something before about Slytherin's prejudice not being what I thought it was. What did you mean?"

Tom smiled. This would likely be the answer that would swing Harry's loyalty entirely. "When Salazar talked about 'pure-blooded' wizards, he did not mean it literally. He was using a figure of speech."

"What?" Harry said, now very confused. "What did he mean, then?"

"Simply that if one was a witch or a wizard, one should live as a witch or wizard, completely repudiating the muggle world. He believed that the two worlds should remain entirely separate, and that no magic person should live with muggles. He thought there should be no contact between peoples, and despised those who tried to live in both worlds. He did not, for example, condone marriages between a magic person and a muggle, but he would not hold the parentage of children born from such a union against them. Nor did he despise muggleborns, he simply believed that they should be adopted by wizarding parents as soon as they were known to have magical powers. Children with magic can never be understood by parents who do not have it, and the child and parents can grow to become dangers to each other. The child because its powers can unintentionally harm those around them who have no ability to defend themselves, and the parents because they may punish the child for things the child has no control over. Any siblings of a magical child born into a muggle family may become jealous and resentful of their gifted brother or sister, a situation I'm certain you are familiar with. Then, when the child is finally told that it has magic, at the age of eleven, it is forced to adjust to an entirely different world, a world that the child often finds strange and disconcerting."

"So it's your goal to completely separate the two worlds? That doesn't seem so bad."

"There are some who insist that understanding between the two cultures can happen, however, most would dispute my methods more than my goals. I will not hesitate to use whatever force is necessary, and that has led many to label me as a 'Dark' lord."

"But you're trying to make sure no more children have to grow up the way we did! Isn't that worth it?"

"Some would disagree. In the interest of fairness and full disclosure, I am not motivated purely, or even mostly by altruism. Most, if not all of my followers believe in pure-blood supremacy as it appears on the surface, and I do not hesitate to take advantage of their sentiments in order to gain power. I wish to be the ruler of the wizarding world."

"And I wish to help you," Harry affirmed.

Tom inwardly laughed triumphantly. With Harry's help, the world was as good as his. "That pleases me, my little serpent," Tom said with a sly smile. "I know that you will be useful to me."

Harry blushed and looked down, but inwardly he was vowing to continue his practice of the Unforgiveables, so that Tom would not have to teach him. He knew it would make Tom proud. "Are you going to give me the Mark?" Harry asked quietly. He didn't really want to be Marked, but he would if Tom insisted.

Tom considered it for a moment. When he had first begun enacting this plan, he had been planning to Mark Harry. But he had since realized that it would be a monumentally foolish thing to do. "No," he said. "Not because I do not think you deserve it, but because I do not believe it is required in our situation. If Dumbledore were to see it, or most anyone else at that school, your true loyalty would be known, and I would lose you. It is too dangerous."

"That makes sense," Harry said.

"There is one other small thing that you could do for me right now," Tom declared, wanting to push his advantage.

"What's that?"

"Tell me the prophecy."

Harry's body tensed. He had declared himself for Tom's side, and he belonged to Tom, even more than those with the Dark Mark branded on their arm. But if Tom knew the entire thing, he might decide to hate Harry again, and Harry didn't think he could stand it if Tom hated him. "Do you believe that prophecies are unalterable, and that they always come true?" Harry asked instead.

"They do not always come to pass in exactly the way one expects them to, but yes, all genuine prophecies do come true."

"Wouldn't that mean that we have no say in our own destiny? That's not something I would expect you of all people to believe. What if I just decided to move to Aruba tomorrow? Or joined the muggle Volunteer Service Overseas organization and spent the rest of my life in some tiny village in Africa? Or took the sword of Gryffindor and stabbed it into my own chest? We would never see each other again, and then what happens to the so-called unavoidability of fate?" Harry asked, his voice gaining volume as he spoke.

"I cannot say, as I do not know the entire prophecy," Tom replied calmly.

"How much do you know, exactly?"

"I know that it foretold the birth of a child with the power to vanquish me—a child who would be born to parents who had defied me three times, and who would be born on the last day of July."

"So you decided to act—and in doing so, you put the whole thing into motion. If you had just left me alone, none of this would have happened."

That made Tom slightly irritated. "How can you be so certain?"

Harry sighed. "Because of what the rest of the prophecy says."

"If you would have me believe that it may be disregarded, you must tell me it in its entirety."

"If I do, will you promise to at least think about it before you do anything?" Harry pleaded.

"Acting rashly after hearing the first part of the prophecy did not serve me well. I will not act so rashly again."

"All right then…here it goes: '_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._' You see, if you had just left me alone, I never would have been marked as your equal, and then…" Harry's voice trailed off, seeing the angry look on Tom's face.

"Tom?" Harry whispered.

"Leave," Tom commanded, his voice trembling. "Leave now."

Harry's heart fell at these words, but his self-preservation instinct ensured that he did as Tom said. As he prepared to bring his mind back to sleep, he whispered "It doesn't have to be true." Then his presence left the room.


	13. Chapter 13

Another nice long chapter. I hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you think. :)

Chapter 13

The next morning when Harry awoke, he felt absolutely awful. Had he been wrong to tell Tom the whole prophecy? He didn't think so, actually. It concerned Tom as much as it did Harry, and Tom had every right to hear it. Harry hadn't been happy that knowledge of the prophecy's contents had been kept from him; he couldn't do that to another person. He really hoped that, like Harry himself, Tom just needed a bit of time to adjust to what he'd heard. Harry couldn't bear it if Tom decided to go back to hating him, not to mention the renewed danger to his life. He almost reached for the link to Tom in his mind, wanting to have some clue about the man's emotional state, but he stopped himself. He knew Tom wouldn't appreciate it. Difficult as it would be, he knew that he would have to leave Tom alone unless (until? he hoped) Tom came to him. Heaving a sigh, he dragged himself out of bed to begin his day.

The day did not improve as it went along. Harry went to his classes listlessly, not failing when asked to answer questions or demonstrate spells, but not volunteering to do so either. His friends had obviously noticed something was wrong, but they both knew Harry would never discuss his problems in public, and they had not yet had a chance for private conversation. That afternoon, after classes had finished, Harry knew his friends, especially Hermione, were going to try and get him to talk about what was wrong. He did not want that to happen, so he claimed he needed to go to the loo, saying to his friends that he would meet them in the common room. As soon as he had turned the corner out of their sight, he cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself. He had learned that spell over Christmas break, figuring that he might not always be able to get to his Cloak quickly enough. Grateful that he had thought of that, his now invisible self put on his Cloak, just in case the Charm wore off, and wondered off toward a lower section of the castle that he had yet to thoroughly explore. It was an old, dusty area, full of nothing but unused classrooms and the old Hogwarts kitchen, which had been destroyed in 1506 by some students whose idea to prank the school by putting Effervescent Elixir in all the pumpkin juice had gone awry. No amount of magic had been able to completely remove the resulting orange sparkly goo, and thus they had decided to build a new kitchen rather than repair the old one. According to Hermione, anyway, who had probably read it in that history book she was so fond of.

The dust on the floor and the walls was thick, without so much as a footprint to show that anyone had been there. Harry was slightly surprised at this. He knew Fred and George had been interested in visiting here after hearing the tale of the orange goo, and he would have thought other students would be attracted by the peaceful solitude. Well, whatever the reason no one else ever came here, he was grateful to know that he would be left alone.

He wondered aimlessly around for awhile, and he eventually found the ruined kitchen. Oddly, there was no trace of any orange goo, sparkly or otherwise. Much to his surprise, when he looked into the corner of the kitchen, he saw a woman sitting in a rocking chair, calmly knitting what looked to be a scarf. She had golden blond hair framing her face in two braids. She was quite short, a little bit plump, and she had kindly brown eyes. She reminded him somewhat of Mrs. Weasley. Then he noticed that she, like Salazar, had a slight glow about her. Could she be the spirit of one of the founders? Harry's eyebrows rose as that thought occurred to him, and the woman giggled softly.

The fact that she was in a kitchen, and a kitchen deep underground at that, made Harry fairly certain that he was addressing the spirit of Helga Hufflepuff. Had that not been enough information, the fact that the half-completed scarf was done in stripes of yellow and brown would have made Harry absolutely certain.

"Hello, um...Professor Hufflepuff?" Harry said questioningly, not quite certain how to address the woman before him.

"Oh, very good, Harry, I knew you'd figure it out," she replied, beaming up at him. "You can call me Helga, by the way. I'm not a professor anymore, and even when I was, I encouraged familiarity."

"Oh, right then. Thank you, Helga," Harry said, feeling slightly awkward.

"Why don't you have a seat and tell me what your problem is?" Helga said, waving her hand as she spoke. The wave of her hand caused another rocking chair to appear, facing hers. Harry sat, finding it to be quite comfortable.

"How did you know I had a problem?" he asked.

Helga smiled, a sweet motherly smile that made Harry feel better to see it. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be here," she stated simply. "You see, what happened with the pumpkin juice and the Effervescent Elixir was no accident. Salazar has his Chamber, Godric has his hat, Rowena has her—well, you'll find Rowena's place soon, I expect, and I have my kitchen. The problem was that Salazar's Chamber could not be found or entered by most people, but Godric and Rowena both enjoy company, and frequently talk to those around them. Everyone assumed that since my kitchen was such a public place I must want to talk to people, too. Well, I don't, especially not when most of them didn't really want to talk to _me_. They wanted to know about the secrets of Hogwarts, or wizarding history, or the other founders. So I caused the 'accident,' and I made sure no one was able to clean it up. After they'd given up and built a new kitchen, I cleaned the place up and I cast a few spells over it. Now, the only people who can find this place are people who need my help, and even then they have to be people I care to talk to. It's been about fifty years since the last person who came here." As she spoke, her knitting needles clacked together. She seemed to be using her hands to knit, not magic, and yet the scarf was coming together faster than Harry would have thought possible. Already it had grown another six inches. Helga noticed Harry staring at the scarf and smiled. "I make all the scarves for Hufflepuff students. Feel it," she commanded.

Harry obligingly reached out and touched the finished part of the scarf. Much to his awed surprise, the seemingly normal wool was as soft as a kitten's fur and radiated warmth. "Godric can't do that," she said smugly. "Makes you wish you'd been Sorted into _my_ House, doesn't it? But on to business, now, what brings you down to my kitchen?"

"The magic of Hogwarts, apparently," Harry said dryly. "I didn't want my friends pressuring me to tell them what's wrong, and when I thought about a place I could go to be alone, this place came to mind, even though I've never been here before and I already have several places I usually go to for that."

"Oh, a stubborn one. Seems that trait has yet to breed out of Salazar's or Godric's line. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that, they both had stubbornness enough for a thousand years. You might as well just let it out, boy. Tom discovered the hard way that 'the magic of Hogwarts,' as you put it, won't let you leave until I decide you're ready."

"Tom? You mean Tom Riddle, right?"

"Of course I do. He was the last person to visit me. He ended up staying down here for three days before he finally talked. He tried all sorts of magic to fight his way out—quite the impressive show, actually, but the magic of Hogwarts is strong, especially for those linked to Her by blood. So young _Gryffindor_" (she emphasized it to remind Harry of his own blood link to the castle) "will you be talking, or will we be spending some time together?"

"You make this sound like some sort of torture chamber—'we haff vays of making you talk,'" Harry said, though smiling.

"I don't know how everyone got the idea that I was the nice one. I think Godric keeps calling me 'sweet' and 'kind' in his little song, just to annoy me. I have to take whatever opportunities I have to show that it isn't true."

"I'd go around spreading the truth for you, but then I'd have to explain where I found you, and that would lead to other people trying to come here. They wouldn't be able to find you, of course, but then they'd believe I was lying about meeting you in the first place, and it wouldn't do any good."

"Not to mention the fact that you still haven't told me what's wrong, so you can't leave yet anyway."

Harry grinned in a manner that he hoped was charming. "You can't blame me for trying, right?"

"I could, but I won't. But you're still not leaving until you tell me your problem."

"You know, I came down here because I wanted to _escape_ from people pressuring me to talk to them."

"What we want and what we need is not always the same thing."

"You're right!" Harry exclaimed. "That's just the answer I needed. Thank you!" He stood up and turned to go. Upon walking out the door of the kitchen, he found himself simply re-entering the room. Helga was smirking at him.

"Your acting would have fooled most people, but let's just say Salazar wasn't the only one with a unique power, and mine means that no one, not even the most gifted Occlumens, can lie to me," she said gently.

Harry resumed his seat in the rocking chair and rocked sulkily for a few minutes, pondering what Helga had just told him. He couldn't make anything of it, though, so he decided to just give in. "You really want to know what's bothering me?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Harry. I do," she replied, and a gentle caring seemed to be exuding from her eyes to surround him.

"Even though there isn't anything either of us can do about it?"

"You can talk, and I can listen."

Harry was about to give a sarcastic reply, but something made him hold it back. The positive emotions that seemed to be flowing from the woman were soothing him, melting away his barriers. "Well, it begins with a prophecy," he found himself saying.

"The prophecy regarding you and Tom Riddle? Godric told me of it."

"So you know that Tom has been trying to kill me since I was a baby, right?" Helga nodded, and Harry continued. "Well, recently, Tom must have decided that that wasn't the best idea after all, and he and I have become…friends, I guess." Harry blushed as he said this, but Helga chose not to comment on that. "We've spent a lot of time together, and he's been teaching me about magic. Yesterday night I told him what the prophecy said. He knew there was a prophecy before, and he knew the first two sentences, but he didn't know the whole thing. I told him the rest of it, and now he's really angry with me. I think--" Harry paused, and took a deep breath—"I think he's going to try to kill me again."

"What exactly did he do when you told him?"

"He yelled at me to leave, immediately."

Helga didn't respond immediately; she took several minutes to consider what Harry had said. Finally, she said slowly, "Harry, do you remember the night when Dumbledore first told you the entire prophecy?"

Harry was astonished that she would ask that. "How could I possibly forget?"

"So then you must remember how you felt when you heard the prophecy for the first time. Tell me about that."

"I was angry. I couldn't believe Dumbledore had kept such important information from me for so long. I was confused. I didn't really understand exactly what it meant. And I was scared. I don't want to die, and the prophecy made it sound very likely that I was going to, and soon." The words seemed to pour out of his mouth without any prompting from his brain.

"And how did you react to all of those emotions?"

"I—I guess I lashed out at Dumbledore, without thinking about it. It wasn't really his fault, except that he hadn't told me sooner, but he was there, and it was easy to be angry at him."

Helga smiled, a smile that was not quite smug, but still implied that she knew something Harry did not. "You've probably been told this before, but not by anyone who could know as well as I do—you and Tom Riddle are very like each other."

"What?" Harry said, not understanding where this was going.

"I would be willing to bet a great deal that when you told Tom the entire prophecy, he felt exactly the same way you did. Angry that the knowledge had been withheld for so long, confused as to what, exactly, it meant, and scared of the possible consequences."

"Scared? Why would he be scared? He doesn't have anything to fear from me. If we ever fought, I mean _really_ fought, without Dumbledore or anyone there to save me, he could kill me in an instant."

"Perhaps that is true now, but your potential is obvious to those who have the eyes to see it. You are the Dark Lord's equal in power, if not knowledge and experience, and I don't need a prophecy to tell me that. There are perhaps four or five wizards in the entire world who have the potential to challenge Tom Riddle, and I daresay you are the only one who could stand next to him as his equal. Tom has never had an equal before, and so even if the prophecy did not exist, he would fear you."

Harry still looked doubtful, but he decided to agree, for now. "Okay, maybe he was scared of me. I still don't understand what you're trying to say."

Helga sighed. Most people were unable to see their own emotional situations clearly or objectively, and it seemed that Harry was no exception. "Must I spell it out for you? You and Tom felt exactly the same way when you heard the prophecy. You have very similar personalities. Is it really so difficult to predict that you would react to hearing the prophecy in exactly the same way? You lashed out at Dumbledore as a convenient target. You weren't really angry at him, but it's not really possible to attack Fate, and he was there."

"So you're saying Tom isn't really angry with me, just with the circumstances?" Harry puzzled out. "And he yelled at me because he needed to express his anger somehow, and I was the only one there?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? And consider this—you, in your anger, verbally attacked and destroyed the office of a man you considered a mentor; almost a grandfather.(1) Tom has seen you as an enemy for far longer than he has seen you as a friend, yet he did not even attempt to harm you. In fact, I believe his telling you to leave was for your protection, to ensure that you were not within his reach if his anger got out of control."

"So-so you don't think he's really angry with me?" Harry asked hopefully.

"No, Harry, I don't believe that he is."

"So what should I do now?"

Helga gave him a look, the same kind of look that Professor McGonagall gave students who asked questions about things she had already explained thoroughly. "I think you know."

"Give him time to sort out his feelings on his own and wait for him to talk to me?"

"Isn't that what you would want him to do, if the situation were reversed?"

"Yeah, it is," Harry said, feeling more confident now.

"Treat others as you would have them treat you," Helga said, chuckling a bit. "I know it's a simple, maybe even childish concept, but the wisdom we learn as children is just as valid when we become adults."

Harry suddenly realized that there was something else he needed to say. "I'm sorry I was so rude to you earlier. I really appreciate your letting me come down here, and your help."

"It was my pleasure, Harry. Most people who come to see me are somewhat impolite at first. Since I do technically kidnap them, the hostility is understandable."

Harry laughed. "Will I be able to find you if I want to come see you again some time?"

"I expect you to come see me fairly often. At the very least, I want to know what happens with Tom," she said, as if discussing a muggle soap opera. The thought made Harry smile.

"Alright. I'll be sure to let you know." Harry looked at his watch. "It's been really nice, and I'll come back, but dinner starts in ten minutes. Am I allowed to leave now?"

"You may, and remember, if you don't come back on your own, I can always kidnap you again."

Harry smiled and turned to go. "Goodbye, Helga. Thank you again."

"Goodbye Harry. Oh, one last thing."

Harry, who had been about to walk out the door, turned back to face Helga. "Yes?" he said.

"When Tom came to see me, I told him something. When you see Tom again, I want you to remind him of what I said."

"What was that?"

"Not all power comes from magic."

"What?" Harry said, quite confused.

"It's not a message for you. You don't need to understand it. But he will. Tell him."

"I will," Harry responded, though slightly miffed at having information kept from him again.

Helga chuckled. "I'm not keeping it from you for your own good, or because I don't think you're ready to know. I'm keeping it from you because it's not really any of your business. If Tom wants to tell you what it means, he will. Think of it this way, you know I won't tell anyone any of _your_ secrets, either."

"How did Rowena get the reputation for being the clever one with you around?" Harry asked impudently.

That made Helga laugh out loud. "I'll have to tell her you said that. Go on now, go get something to eat."

"Goodbye, Helga."

"So long, Harry."

Harry left the old kitchen, following his own footprints in the dust to find his way back to the part of the castle he was familiar with, and trying to remember how to get back to the kitchen for future reference. He'd felt too depressed to eat much of anything at breakfast or lunch, but now that his heart had been lightened, his appetite had returned. He also needed to find Ron and Hermione. They were sure to be worried about him by now.

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Lord Voldemort had been through quite a wide range of emotions throughout the past hour. When Potter had first told him the prophecy, he'd been furious. Not only did the prophecy say that Potter would have the power to kill him, it said that in the end, one of them would kill the other. He didn't have a problem with teaching the only one who had the ability to kill him. He was confident in his ability to keep Potter in line. But the 'either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives' part was damning. It seemed that they were destined to fight each other, a fight from which only one of them would emerge alive, and he had been unwittingly equipping his mortal enemy to succeed. He knew Potter had the power to be his equal, and though he would never admit it to anyone, he was frightened of what might happen at the end of that fight.

Then, after his initial anger had died down, he had been confused. 'Neither can live while the other survives?' Well, he and Potter had both been alive for sixteen and a half years now—one and a half if his years as a bodiless spirit were not included. Wouldn't that fact prove the statement false? Unless there was some different meaning between the words 'live' and 'survive.' Perhaps 'live' meant having a full appreciation and enjoyment of life, while 'survive' simply meant continuing to exist. If that were the case, that sentence could still have two meanings. To stop surviving could mean to die, of course. But it could also mean to come into a full life. So it could mean that he would never have a full life until he killed Potter, or it could mean that he would never have a full life until Potter did, too.

And that was if he even believed in the stupid thing. Potter had been right when saying that Lord Voldemort was not the sort of man to believe in predetermination. He had believed all his life that his fate was in his own hands. After all, it was supposed to be a certainty that all life ended with death. But he had refused to give Death any power over him. Why should Fate be any different? In the classical plays, men who had prophecies hanging over their heads brought about the foretold result by their attempts to avoid it. Had they never heard or acted on the prophecy, it never would have come true. Had he, by attempting to kill Potter as a baby, made the same mistake? Had he not heard the prophecy, he would never have gone after the Potter family; never attacked Harry. Harry would never have been 'marked as his equal,' and then the rest of it would never have come into play. Loathe though he was to admit it, it seemed that was another thing Harry was right about.

How often did prophecies actually come true, anyway? The Hall of Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries held thousands of prophecies, each contained in its own sphere.

What percentage of those had actually come to pass? He had no idea, and that seemed like important information. Now that the first part of the prophecy had been set into motion, would the rest inevitably come to pass? In hindsight, he had to wonder why he hadn't considered any of these questions a long time ago, before he attempted to kill Potter.

Well, he would do his best to rectify that mistake. He was quite reluctant to lose Harry as his ally. It did seem that the prophecy could be ignored without consequence. Yet it was quite a risk not to kill the boy now, while he was weak, rather than allowing him to live and grow stronger. He would have to give the matter further thought, and do more thorough research into the nature of prophecies. He resolved to summon Rookwood in the morning. Having sorted through his feelings, for the time being at least, he was able to return to sleep.

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Harry knew it would take some time before Tom was willing to speak to him again. He felt confident that Tom would, in time, get over his anger, so he was willing to wait. In the mean time, he would continue practicing the Unforgiveables. Hopefully, Harry would still be able to visit Tom for the Easter Holidays, and he wanted to be able to really impress the man when they met in again in person.

For three more nights, he practiced the Cruciatus curse, changing his target from a spider to a mouse, then to a dog, and finally to a monkey. Then he put a Glamour spell over the monkey, causing it to look like a random, nondescript person. He was now casting it with a perfect success rate. He knew it wouldn't be the same when he actually cast it on a real human being, but he was fairly confident that he would be able to when the time came. On the fourth night, he decided to move on to the Imperius curse, since he needed it to accomplish his task for Salazar.

As with the Cruciatus curse, he began his practice with a conjured spider as his target. He found it surprisingly easy to control the creature. In fact, he was able to do it on his first try. So he conjured a toad, which also responded perfectly to his commands. He decided that practicing on animals probably wouldn't really work, because animals had very little intelligence and will. For this curse, he would need to have human targets to truly practice. He knew it wouldn't be safe to do that on Hogwarts grounds. Sighing, he decided to spend the rest of the night studying another book on Parselmagic.

The next morning, Hermione had Ancient Runes class first thing in the morning, while he and Ron did not have a class until later in the day. That meant Ron would undoubtedly have a lie in. Harry decided it was the perfect time to make his first attempt at hatching a basilisk.

Unlike Ron, Harry did not usually sleep late in the morning, so Hermione was not surprised that Harry joined her for breakfast. The two friends discussed inconsequential things, and soon Hermione left for her class. In parting, Harry said he fancied a walk, and then headed out the doors of the castle. Once outside, he cast the now very familiar Disillusionment Charm over himself, and added his Invisibility Cloak over that. He also cast a Silencing Charm over himself to ensure that his footsteps would not give him away. That done, he began walking toward Hagrid's hut. Or rather, the chicken coop behind Hagrid's hut.

Hagrid himself was busy teaching a class of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw third years, so the hut and the surrounding area were unoccupied. The chicken coop had a very mild ward around it, but the ward was intended to keep out foxes and other predators, and so it had no effect on Harry. He remained invisible and silent while entering the coop, not wanting to cause the chickens to squawk in alarm. His original plan had been to take one or two eggs that were close to hatching, but then he had a better idea. If he took one chicken and one rooster, he would have a continuous supply of eggs for his experiments, and he wouldn't have to take the risks of stealing more if his first one or two tries didn't work. He would have to replace them, of course, since missing chickens could draw suspicion, but that was fairly easy. Stepping outside the chicken coop, he Summoned two sparrows and Transfigured them into a chicken and a rooster. The Transfigured birds wouldn't have exactly the same properties as the real chickens. The hen would not be able to lay eggs, for example. But Hagrid would likely just think that the chicken had gotten old, and it should not cause any alarm. Harry selected a young hen and a young rooster. He placed the Imperius curse on both animals to ensure that they would remain quiet and passive while he carried them away. He switched them out for their Transfigured replacements, Disillusioned them, and carried them away under his cloak.

Returning to the castle, he quickly entered the Chamber. After removing his cloak and the Disillusionment Charm, he was greeted by Salazar. "Is this what I hope it is?" the spirit asked.

Harry put a look of mock-confusion on his face. "I didn't think you could eat anymore. Why would you care about fresh eggs?"

Salazar was not having any of Harry's games. "I notice that you only brought the chickens. You haven't forgotten the toad, have you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes Salazar, I am in fact incredibly stupid, and I forgot that without the toad a chicken egg would only hatch out another chicken." As he spoke, he began setting up an enclosure for the two birds, complete with water, heat, grass, and plenty of sticks for nest building. He put the two birds into their fairly large pen, and the hen immediately began collecting sticks. The rooster began crowing, drawing a grimace from Salazar and a Silencing spell from Harry.

"If you did not forget, then where is the toad?" Salazar rebutted.

"I want to attempt it with a Conjured toad first, to make sure no one suspects anything. I know it might not work, since the Conjured toad won't, magically speaking, be exactly the same as a 'real' toad. But that's why I brought these two birds down here. If my first try doesn't work, I'll have more eggs, and I can try again."

"I see. That's quite clever of you, lion cub."

"I'm glad you think so. Well, that hen should be laying an egg or two in the next few days. I want to put the toad over the egg as soon as it's laid to increase the chances that it will work, so I'll come to check on it as often as I can. And I'll stop by every morning to feed them and clean up their pen."

"I look forward to the results," Salazar said before vanishing.

Harry knew he didn't have much time before his first class, so he too vanished from the Chamber.

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The night was dark. There was no light; clouds obscured the shining of both the moon and the stars. The only illumination came from the curses flying all over the field. Small puddles showed that there had been a fall of rain earlier, but the sky was, for the moment, still. He was standing outside of Hogwarts, which had become nothing but a ruin. A frenzied battle was raging all around him, and he himself was fighting viciously. He was throwing curses and striking down Aurors and Order members with ease, never once being hit by any of the curses thrown in return. Standing next to him, fighting with the same casual ease, was—himself?

Suddenly, he realized he must have been pulled into Harry's mind, and now he was witnessing Harry's dream.

Harry stole a moment to look over at him, and felt awe, respect, and another emotion that he wasn't quite certain of. (Apparently, being in Harry's mind like this, he could feel Harry's emotions.) The battle continued raging, and the two black haired men fought together in perfect coordination, a display of power and skill that was greater than anything anyone had ever seen before. They moved so well together that they seemed to be one person, and their enemies seemed to just melt away before them. Tom, separate from Harry's emotions, was enthralled by the sight, and thrilled at the idea that this vision could come to pass. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he desperately wanted it to be real.

Suddenly, Harry's bushy haired friend appeared on the battlefield. Panic rose in Harry's throat as he watched her fight the Death Eaters, and he attempted to defend and protect her. But he would not leave Tom, and so he was unable to stop the bright green curse that struck her in the back, killing her instantly. Grief and pain overwhelmed Harry, and in turn Tom. Tom couldn't take those emotions. So he quickly pulled back to his own mind, bringing his little serpent with him.

Harry blinked sleepily, and rubbed at his eyes. "Tom?" he said, sounding uncertain.

Tom couldn't help himself. He pulled Harry into a hug. Then he said two words he'd never spoken to anyone before. "I'm sorry, Harry." He hoped he wouldn't have to explain what he meant.

He didn't. Harry always knew exactly what Tom meant. "You don't have to apologize. When Dumbledore told me the prophecy, I reacted the same way. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it sooner."

He let Harry go, and they both sat down in their usual chairs. "You're right Harry. I had someone look in to it for me. There are at least three thousand prophecies in the Department of Mysteries, and of those, only around two hundred have ever come true. When a genuine Seer makes a prophecy, what they see is one possible future, the most likely outcome _at that moment_. But the future is always in motion.(2) Everything we choose to do, or not to do, can and does change it. If there is a significant enough change in circumstance, the foretold future is averted. As you said, it doesn't have to be true."

Harry smiled, and Tom didn't think about why he was so happy to see Harry smile. "I'm glad you think so. I know it's only been a week, but I've missed you. I hated the thought that you were angry at me."

"I'm not angry at you anymore, Harry. Your dream of yourself fighting by my side was beautiful. I hope that it will come to pass."

That made Harry frown, and Tom realized that he'd just said something rather stupid, and corrected himself. "Not all of the dream, Harry. I'm sure you know that I would never destroy Hogwarts. Like you, I've always felt that the castle was my home. I would protect it as strongly as you would."

"And what about Hermione? I know people will have to die, but not her. I'd never forgive myself if she died."

"Did I not promise you that at least five of your companions would be protected?"

"You did. But I haven't made the list yet. I was too busy thinking about you being angry with me."

"Make the list, my little serpent. My promise still holds true."

"I'm glad I'm on your side now, Tom. Dumbledore would never make me that promise. He'd just say that my friends had the right to face danger if they wanted to. And they're not even his enemies!"

"Your loyalty is worth it, Harry." Tom meant that, absolutely. What was leaving five brats alone in exchange for Harry's power joining with his own? Perhaps he didn't even need to kill Harry when this was all over.

Harry yawned. "I'm really glad to see you, but I haven't been getting a lot of sleep recently. And I have my first Occlumency 'lesson' with Dumbledore tomorrow evening. Could we talk more tomorrow night?"

"Of course, little serpent. Write your list. Contact me before you go to sleep, and I will see you tomorrow evening."

"Oh! Before I go, I just remembered. I talked to Helga a while ago."

"Helga Hufflepuff? Did she kidnap you and force you to talk, too?"

"She did, though _I_ was only there for about an hour," Harry said somewhat arrogantly.

"It would seem that you give in far too easily," Tom replied teasingly.

"No, I just know not to fight battles I can't win. You should be grateful for that. Anyway, she wanted me to give you a message."

"What is it with the interfering old revenants all wanting to talk to me?" Tom asked with a mock anger.

"Well, she doesn't want a conversation. She just wanted me to remind you of what she told you before."

"I was there for three days. She said a lot of things. Was there any one thing in particular?"

"Not all power comes from magic," Harry stated flatly. "She wouldn't tell me what it meant, though. She said I'd have to ask you."

"It is not anything important," Tom said with a slight frown. "Weren't you about to go to sleep?"

"Oh, right then. I'll go now," Harry said, slightly disappointed.

"Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Tom."

The next day, when Harry nipped down to the Chamber to perform his daily check on the chickens, he found two new eggs in the nest. If his experiment succeeded, he didn't really want to end up with two basilisks, so he only took one egg out of the nest. That egg was gently placed into a new nest, with a Warming Charm cast over it. After all, a toad wouldn't generate the heat necessary to keep the egg alive. Having settled the egg, Harry Conjured a toad and used the Imperius Curse to make the animal place its body over the chicken egg. To make sure the toad couldn't go anywhere if the Imperius curse slipped, he Conjured a cage around the egg and toad together, and put food and water where the toad could access both without having to leave the egg. He would continue coming every day to observe the progress.

"And so the first attempt begins," Salazar's voice came dryly from behind him.

"Hopefully also the last attempt," Harry replied. "I have some work to do in the library now."

Salazar smiled. "I'll leave you to it, then. Thank you, Harry."

"Don't thank me yet, after all, it might not work. You can thank me when we have a new baby basilisk."

Harry moved into the Chamber library and pulled out a scrap piece of parchment. He needed to make his list to give to Tom, the sooner the better. He decided to start by listing everyone he knew and cared for, his friends, Order members, and his classmates. He could narrow the list down from there.

He knew Hermione would be on the list. Hers was the first name he circled as a definite 'yes.' He crossed out Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, knowing that they, like his own parents, would rather die than see their children killed. Percy Weasley was also discounted for his disloyalty to his family and his accusations against Harry. He crossed out most of the Order members, leaving only Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. Seamus and Dean, along with most of his classmates, also left the list. Harry wasn't especially close to them, and most of them had believed that Harry was the murdering Heir of Slytherin, and later on an insane, attention-seeking liar. That didn't mean he wanted them dead, but he didn't have any particular motivation to save them above other people, and they weren't directly involved in the war, anyway. That left him with ten people: Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Remus, Tonks, and Neville. From there, it became much more difficult. He finally decided that Tonks, as an Auror, could take care of herself, and besides, if something happened to her, at least she was an adult who had chosen to fight. Neither Bill nor Charlie lived in England, which made them less likely to get hurt. So he crossed them off the list. Now he was down to seven people, and he was terribly torn. Despite his recent falling outs with Ron, the boy had been his first friend, and his best mate for almost six years now. Ron's name was circled. Nor could he leave out Ginny. He may not love her the way she wanted him to, but he still cared for her deeply and thought of her as a sister. That was three people on the list. He could only choose two more. He knew choosing only one of the twins was worthless. Neither one would want to live without the other. So that meant he could choose either Fred and George or Remus and Neville. Reluctantly, he crossed Fred and George off the list. He really liked them, and they had done their best to protect him as well as if they had been his older brothers. But Remus was his last connection to his parents and Sirius. And if anyone deserved protection, it was Neville. True, Harry and Neville weren't particularly close, but Neville had always stood behind Harry. His parents were worse than dead, and it didn't sound like his grandmother or any of the rest of his family really cared for him. Life had not been kind to him thus far, and Harry couldn't help but sympathize. So that made his list.

Exiting the Chamber library, he found Salazar in the main room, watching the egg that would hopefully hatch out a basilisk. Harry laughed. "It's going to be another twenty days before anything interesting happens with that egg, you know." Much to Harry's satisfaction, Salazar jumped. Harry snickered.

"Don't laugh, you impudent whelp. When am I going to have another chance like this?"

"To stare at an egg? Any time you want, really. I'd love to stay and stare with you, but I have my so-called 'lesson' with Dumbledore in fifteen minutes."

"Be careful, Harry," Salazar warned. "You are skilled, but don't let yourself become overconfident, especially not around that man." Salazar went back to staring at the egg, and Harry left the Chamber.

He arrived at Dumbledore's office exactly at 7:00, gave the password, and allowed the stairs to deliver him to the door. The door was already open, and so Harry entered without knocking.

Dumbledore had obviously been expecting him to do just that. As soon as he entered the familiar office, the door closed behind him. "Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore greeted casually.

"Good evening, sir," Harry replied softly, trying to seem nervous.

"Our session tonight will begin with your Occlumency lesson. I hope that you are not overly anxious?"

"No, sir," Harry answered, though he was looking down, wanting to give the impression that he was not the least bit confident.

"Relax, my boy," Dumbledore said. "I daresay that though I shall be a hard taskmaster, you shall not find these sessions with me as trying as those you shared with Severus. Shall we begin?"

"Yes, sir." As if Harry actually had a choice. He did his best to pay close attention to what Dumbledore was telling him about shielding his mind, though he was putting more effort into checking the 'locks' on the memories that Dumbledore absolutely could not see.

"Now, you understand the theory, but the only way to hone your skills is to practice. I cannot promise you that this will not hurt. However, I have procured from Madame Pomphrey a headache potion, which you may have if you are in need of it at the end of our lesson."

That was unexpectedly thoughtful. "Thank you, sir," Harry replied, genuinely grateful. He no longer got headaches from practicing Occlumency, but he could still appreciate the consideration the gesture showed.

"If you are ready?" Dumbledore asked. When Harry nodded, he looked deeply into Harry's eyes, and Harry felt the probing attack begin. He did his best impression of a beginner at the art, and held his shields for about ten seconds before opening his mind to the touch. Dumbledore was looking for memories of who Harry had told the prophecy. Harry allowed Dumbledore to see part of the memory of him telling the prophecy to Hermione. After that memory had played, Dumbledore withdrew.

"I notice that you have only confided the prophecy to Miss Granger," he commented. "If I may ask, why was Mr. Weasley not present for the discussion?"

Harry would really have liked to tell the old man that it wasn't any of his business. But he needed to keep up his act. So instead, he replied, "Ron and I were having a—disagreement at the time, sir," with a rueful smile.

"If you will excuse me prying just a bit further, what about?"

Now that was really none of the Headmaster's business. Harry allowed his rueful grin to turn more sheepish, and said, "Girls, sir. I'd rather not say more than that."

Dumbledore smiled. Harry felt another, more delicate probe at his mind, one that he knew he wasn't supposed to be aware of, so he allowed the intrusion, displaying memories of Ron yelling at him for being around Hermione, and the memory of Ginny asking him if he fancied anyone for good measure. The intrusion was over quickly.

Dumbledore openly invaded Harry's mind three more times before apparently deciding that it was enough. Each time, Harry held his erstwhile teacher out of his mind for a little bit longer.

"I do believe that is enough of Occlumency for tonight," the Headmaster declared. "Let us now move on to further study of Tom Riddle's adult life." He pulled out the Pensieve, along with two vials of memory. "I collected these two memories from Morfin Gaunt, Tom Riddle's uncle." He pulled the stopper out of the first vial, poured the silvery contents into the basin, and gestured toward it.

Harry pushed his head forward into the basin, and the memory began to play.

A small young woman with dark, lank hair was bending over a bubbling cauldron, stirring in an ingredient. Harry couldn't see what the ingredient was. She leaned over the book that was open next to the cauldron, feverishly concentrating. Her lips moved as she read from the page, and then she began to stir the potion counter-clockwise.

"§What are you doing?§" a hissing voice asked, startling the woman. The hissing voice came from a squat, ugly, and dirty young man, and the woman was clearly quite frightened of him. Still, she held her ground.

"§Nothing, Morfin,§" she replied, her hands trembling. "§Just making a potion for Father's cough.§"

Morfin walked across the room and picked up the book that was next to the cauldron. Looking over Morfin's shoulder, he saw the heading of the page the book was open to. "Amortentia," it read. Harry knew that particular potion was not a cough remedy. But apparently either Morfin could not read, or he did not share the knowledge of Amortentia's purpose, because he only said, "§Hurry up, then. I'm hungry. You have to cook supper soon.§"

Just then, from outside the window, there came the sound of hoof beats. The woman raised her head excitedly to see out the window. Then she seemed to remember that she was not alone, and she quickly looked back down at her cauldron.

"What're you lookin' at, then, eh Merope?" Morfin asked.

The woman, whom Harry now knew to be called Merope, kept her eyes down and said nothing.

Morfin went to the window and looked out, and Harry followed him. There, just outside, a tall and handsome man sat astride an equally handsome bay horse, pausing to let his horse have a drink from the stream. Harry knew instantly that this had to be Tom Riddle's father. The resemblance between the two men gave it away instantly. The horse finished drinking, and the man rode off.

"You was lookin' at that filthy muggle, weren't you?" Morfin accused. "Just you wait'll I tell Father. Then he'll have to give me Slytherin's necklace. You aren't worthy of it, you filthy little blood-traitor slut."

Merope grasped at the locket around her neck, holding it tightly. "No, Morfin, please! I wasn't looking at him, I swear! I just wanted to see who was there!"

"Oh, and who else ever goes by on horseback? Stop lying, you were lookin' at 'im, and I'm telling Father."

"Telling me what?" a new man spoke. He, though slightly taller and cleaner than Morfin, was still no exemplar of good hygiene.

"Merope was looking at a muggle. You know, that man what rides his horse by here every day. She _fancies_ him, don't she?" Morfin said smugly.

"What!" the man exploded. "My daughter, a pure-blooded ancestor of Slytherin, looking at some dirt-grubbing muggle?" He smacked the girl with the back of his hand, and she tumbled to the floor. "That's right, stay on the floor, stay down there with your _muggle_. And give me the necklace. A nasty little muggle-lover like you isn't worthy of wearing something that belonged to Salazar Slytherin."

Merope was shaking, tears were running down her face, and she obeyed silently. Her hands unclasped the necklace, and handed it up to her father. As the necklace was passed, Harry took a closer look at it. It was made from silver, and it had an ornamental "S" on the front. "Be grateful I don't take your wand, you worthless lump," the man snarled. "And have supper on the table in an hour." Both men left the room, the older man angry, the younger smug, and Merope, still trembling, rose and went back to her cauldron. The look on her face, though frightened, was also determined. And there the memory ended.

Harry pulled his head up to find Dumbledore looking at him expectantly. "Well," he began, "the man who rode by on horseback was obviously Tom's father. And I suppose that woman—Merope—must have been his mother. She used the love potion she was making on the man?"

"Though I do not have evidence that would stand up in court, I would be prepared to wager a great deal that that was the case. The man—Tom Riddle Senior, later married Merope, giving the village of Little Hangleton quite the scandal to discuss, the son of the wealthiest family in town running off with the tramp's daughter, after all."

"Not to be rude, but I can't see how else Merope could have attracted his attention," Harry said somewhat wryly.

"Neither could any of the villagers. When Tom Riddle returned to the village half a year later, without his wife, he spoke of having been 'entranced' or 'bewitched.' The villagers all thought the girl must have pretended to be pregnant by him, and that he left when he discovered she was not."

"So Tom Riddle escaped the love potion?" Harry asked.

"Doubtful. Extremely doubtful. Merope was, as we saw, determined to escape from her father and her brother. Tom Riddle was not only a fancy for her, he was her way out. He had the money to support her and the standing to protect her. However, soon after she ensnared Tom and left her family, her father and brother were arrested and sent to Azkaban following an attack on Tom and an ensuing fight with several Ministry officials. By that time, she was pregnant. I believe that, in her own way, she loved Tom, and she hoped to have his true love in return. Perhaps she thought that he had grown to love her too, perhaps she thought he would stay for the child. Knowing that regardless of what happened, she was safe from her family, she must have stopped giving him the potion."

"But he didn't stay."

"No, he did not. I know very little of what happened to Merope after that, except that she came to London. Now, Harry, do you recall the necklace Merope wore, before her father took it?"

"Yes, sir. Did she take it with her when she ran away?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Very good, Harry. She did indeed. Remember that necklace; it is quite significant to our discussions."

Harry knew perfectly well why that locket was significant--he probably knew even more than the Headmaster about its eventual fate. But he continued to play dumb."Yes, sir," he said. "You said there was another memory to see?"

Dumbledore nodded, and unstopped the second vial. Pouring it into the Pensieve, he said, "Whenever you are ready."

Harry let out a breath, and then plummeted in to the second memory. Tom Riddle Junior, the young Lord Voldemort, was now a young man. Harry guessed that he was about sixteen years old in this memory. He was inside the ramshackle building that Harry recognized as the Gaunt cottage. It had not changed much in the intervening years, except to become a bit more broken down, and even filthier. It was only occupied by one person, a now much older Morfin Gaunt.

Morfin, obviously drunk and filthier than ever, did not seem to notice Tom's presence at first. When he did, the reaction was immediate. "YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!"

And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft.

"§Stop.§" Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. Morfin skidded into the table, sending mouldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it.

"You speak it?"

"Yes, I speak it," said Riddle. "Where is Marvolo?" he asked.

"Dead," said the other. "Died years ago, didn't he?"

Riddle frowned. "Who are you, then?"

"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"

"Marvolo's son?"

"'Course I am, then..."

Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle, and Harry saw that he wore a black-stoned ring on his right hand, a ring that Marvolo had been wearing in the previous memory.

"I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle."

"What Muggle?" said Riddle sharply.

"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it. ..." Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support. "He come back, see," he added stupidly.

Tom was gazing at Morfin as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, "Riddle came back?"

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off. , Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"

Tom did not answer. His face was kept carefully blank, but Harry could see that he was both shocked and angry. Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonored us, , she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit. . . . It's over. ..."

He looked away, staggering slightly, and Tom moved forward. As he did so, an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing Tom's lamp and Morfin's candle, extinguishing everything. . . .Harry found himself soaring back into the present again. The soft golden light in Dumbledore's office seemed to dazzle Harry's eyes after that impenetrable darkness.

"Is that all?" said Harry at once. "Why did it go dark, what happened?"

"Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward," said Dumbledore, gesturing Harry back into his seat. "When he awoke the next morning, he was lying on the floor, quite alone. Marvolo's ring had gone.

"Meanwhile, in the village of Little Hangleton, a maid was running along the High Street, screaming that there were three bodies lying in the drawing room of the big house: Tom Riddle Senior and his mother and father. The Muggle authorities were perplexed. As far as I am aware, they do not know to this day how the Riddles died, for the Avada Kedavra curse does not usually leave any sign of damage. . . . The exception sits before me," Dumbledore added, with a nod to Harry's scar. "The Ministry, on the other hand, knew at once that this was a wizard's murder. They also knew that a convicted Muggle-hater lived across the valley from the Riddle house, one with a history of mental instability. So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight. All that disturbed him was the fact that his fathers ring had disappeared. 'He'll kill me for losing it,' he told his captors over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.' And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls."

"So Voldemort stole Morfin's wand and used it?" said Harry, being careful not to refer to him as 'Tom'.

"That's right," said Dumbledore. "We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly sure what happened. Voldemort Stupefied his uncle, took his wand, and proceeded across the valley to 'the big house over the way.' There he murdered the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother, and, for good measure, his Muggle grandparents, thus obliterating the last of the unworthy Riddle line and revenging himself upon the father who never wanted him. Then he returned to the Gaunt hovel, performed the complex bit of magic that would implant a false memory in his uncle's mind, laid Morfin's wand beside its unconscious owner, pocketed the ancient ring he wore, and departed."(3)

Harry remembered something. "In the memory we saw before, of Voldemort talking to Professor Slughorn, he was wearing Marvolo's ring."

"Indeed he was. It seems you have an eye for the important details of the story. Now, speaking of that memory, have you made any progress in accomplishing the homework I set for you?"

Harry's face fell. He'd actually forgotten about that. He'd have to ask Tom again for advice on what to do. "Er—no, sir," he said quietly. "I guess I've just been so busy studying lately…" he stopped, seeing the look of disappointment on the old man's face.

"Did I not tell you that having this memory was imperative for defeating Voldemort?" he said sternly.

"You did, sir." Harry made sure to appear chastised.

"Studying is important, Harry, but you cannot forget that you also have other priorities. Until we have that memory, we cannot continue our study of Tom Riddle's life. I will see you next week at this time to continue your Occlumency lessons. Goodnight."

Harry stood awkwardly. "I'll try harder, sir. I promise." Dumbledore looked at him, but gave no reply. "Goodnight, sir," Harry said, and he left the office. He kept up his appearance of a scolded student running away with his metaphorical tail between his legs until he was well away,

Why couldn't the old man just leave him alone? Any other student would be praised for focusing on their studies; Harry was reminded that he had 'other priorities.' Other priorities that Dumbledore had failed to give him any aid in accomplishing before this year, and even now was only giving him knowledge of the enemy, not tools to fight. Maybe what Tom said was true, and Dumbledore really didn't want Harry to ever grow beyond a certain level of ability. Harry felt a renewed sense of gratitude for Tom and his own decision to defect to the Dark Lord's side.

Arriving back at the Gryffindor common room, Harry spent a cosy hour with his friends, drinking hot chocolate and eating biscuits. Harry wasn't sure of the reason, but Ron had apparently decided that he was not in love with Hermione after all, and that made the atmosphere far more comfortable between the three of them. Perhaps it was Harry's spell, but Harry suspected it also had a great deal to do with the way Lavender Brown was nearly constantly flirting with him. Ron clearly appreciated the attention, and Hermione was relieved to have Ron's focus taken away from her. Eventually, Hermione left to go to bed, and Ron left to spend some time "getting to know" Lavender. Harry was just as glad to give his friend some privacy, and to have an excuse to go to bed. Using the link between them, Harry notified Tom that he was about to go to sleep. A wave of anticipation came back to him, and Harry fell asleep smiling.

"So, little serpent," Tom greeted, "Another visit to the bee's nest. I hope you were not stung?"

"The bee's nest?" Harry asked, confused. He was surprised to note that Tom's armchair had been once again Transfigured to a love seat, and the arm chair he usually sat in was missing. Shrugging inwardly, and secretly quite pleased, he sat next to Tom

Tom laughed. "Dumbledore is Old English for 'Bumblebee.' Rather fitting, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry hummed in assent. "To answer your question, no, I was not 'stung,' as you put it. Well, not too badly, anyway."

Tom looked at Harry, slightly alarmed. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.

"Relax, Tom, he didn't do anything worse than lecture me. He wanted to know if I had made any progress toward getting Slughorn's memory. I said I'd forgotten about it, and he gave me quite the guilt trip. Well, he tried to, anyway."

"Ah, yes, the 'quest' Dumbledore assigned you. I admit that I had forgotten about that as well. While I am certain that you can withstand his lectures, it would not do for him to become suspicious of you due to your lack of effort. I will think on this. In the meantime, you'd best pretend to be making an attempt."

Harry groaned. "I guess that means I have to start going to his stupid club meetings and sucking up to him like you did."

"Excuse me? Did you just claim that _I_ was _sucking up_?"

"Tom, you brought him a box of his favourite sweet. Sucking up doesn't get much more blatant than that."

"I do not suck up. I flatter when it is necessary," Tom replied, his nose stuck slightly up.

"Whatever you say, Tom," Harry agreed teasingly. "Of course, copying your example is exactly the wrong way for me to go about what I'm supposed to be doing, since Slughorn knows I'm after something. But Dumbledore will see that I'm trying. So it's a good plan, except that I have to sit through those meetings."

"Perhaps you are not a Slytherin after all," Tom said.

"Why would you say that?"

"A true Slytherin would have been attending those meetings all along to make the friends and connections necessary for achieving their ambitions."

"I'd rather not have the kind of friends who only want to use me for their own gain."

Tom sighed and shook his head. "Yes, you certainly are a Gryffindor. Slytherins know there isn't any other kind."

Harry wasn't quite sure if Tom was serious or not. He didn't really want to find out, either, so he changed the subject. "Dumbledore gave me my first 'lesson' in Occlumency tonight," he said.

Tom seemed equally glad for the change. "Oh? I trust you did well?"

"He did not see anything I didn't want him to see. I began with blocking him for ten seconds, and then held my shields for a little bit longer each time. I think I did a good impression of struggling, too."

"Very good. Was there anything else to the meeting?"

"Yes. He showed me two more memories."

"Memories of myself, I presume?" Tom asked with one aristocratic eyebrow delicately arched.

"Yes. One was about how you killed your parents and blamed your uncle for it." Harry started with that memory because he had a question about it. "Tom, why did you kill your father and your grandparents?" Harry asked seriously.

Tom simply looked at Harry for a moment, considering his answer. "My father betrayed and abandoned me and my mother. I do not know much about my mother's life after he left, but I do know that it was not easy. She had no food, no money, and ended up in such poor health that she died in childbirth. My father might not have killed my mother, but he was responsible for her death. My grandparents knew that my father had taken a wife. They may have even known that his wife was with child. But they did not insist that he remain with his wife, nor did they ever care to find out what had become of the child."

Harry nodded. "Dumbledore said you did it to get rid of your 'unclean' family, but I thought it would be something like that."

"If you already knew, then why did you ask?" Tom asked, with just a touch of acid in his voice.

Harry took a deep breath. "Because of what I saw in the other memory," he answered. "You probably already know that your grandfather and uncle weren't very nice people," he began.

"Indeed," Tom said. "I do not support magical folk marrying muggles, but I am also aware of the dangers of inbreeding, and Marvolo and Morfin were two exemplars of what can happen when too many cousins marry each other. They were prone to violence and fits of temper."

"Well, they mostly took it out on your mother. She really wanted to get away from them, and at the same time, she saw your father, Tom Riddle, go riding past her house every afternoon. She fell in love with him, and she knew that he could help her escape her family. But, well, to put it nicely, you get your looks from your father. There was no ordinary way Tom Riddle would have married Merope Gaunt. So she made some Amortentia."

Tom was silent, processing the information. Harry continued. "Tom Riddle senior wasn't the nicest guy; he and his family were kind of snobby. But he didn't marry Merope or have a baby with her because he wanted to. She forced him into it. A nicer or more responsible person might have made sure the baby was taken care of, but I can see why he wouldn't want to. It must be awful to be forced to feel that way about someone."

Tom began to experience a most unpleasant feeling. It was something like heartburn, or maybe indigestion? No, it wasn't something with a physical cause; it was something emotional. It couldn't be—guilt, could it?

Harry, having gotten the difficult part over with, still had more he needed to tell Tom. "Anyway, there's something else you need to know. Merope's brother caught her looking at your father, and he told Marvolo about it. Marvolo smacked his daughter, and took a locket that had belonged to Slytherin away from her. He said she wasn't worthy to carry it. After Dumbledore showed me these memories, he told me to remember the locket, and Marvolo's ring. So the ring must be another of your Horcruxes?"

Tom was amazed at how much Dumbledore had been able to discover about his past, and once again thrilled at the lucky chance that had brought Harry to his side. "Yes, they are," he said, pleased that he had such a useful spy. "So Dumbledore is aware of those…I believe I shall have to move the ring from its current hiding place, and _you_ know what became of the locket, though Dumbledore does not. Thank you, Harry. Your help has been, and continues to be, invaluable to me."

Harry smiled, positively glowing from the praise.

"Now, do you have that list for me?" Tom asked.

"I do," replied Harry.

Tom got out a quill and a piece of parchment. "Here," he said, pushing the items toward Harry. "Write down the five names." Harry did as he was told, writing the names Hermione Granger, Ginevra Weasley, Ronald Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Remus Lupin. Tom looked at the list, but did not comment.

"I did have a question about this," Harry commented as he finished writing.

"Yes?"

"You said you would tell your Death Eaters not to hurt these people, either. But won't they be suspicious of that? Won't they wonder why you would order them not to hurt my closest friends? They might gossip about it, and then it could make its way back to Dumbledore."

"That is a good point, and one that I have already thought of. I will simply tell my servants to capture them alive and unharmed because I wish to use them as hostages and to take information from their minds. If they are captured, I will have them placed in a top-security dungeon, where they will be cared for as well as the pretence allows. Within a week, I will send Severus down to release them and secrete them back to a safe place, thus freeing them and elevating my spy's status in Dumbledore's eyes."

Harry nodded, but then frowned as he thought of a possible problem. "What if Snape tells Dumbledore that you ordered him to release a prisoner?"

"He will not," Tom said confidently.

"How can you be sure?"

"First, Severus is a Slytherin, out for his own skin. He never tells either myself or Dumbledore more than he thinks he has to. Second, he seeks the respect of others, and though he would never admit it, he greatly enjoys impressing people. 'I cunningly plotted to get the prisoner out, risking worse than death to save him' sounds far more heroic than 'the Dark Lord ordered me to take him away, so I did.' Third, it would confuse him. He would not want to say anything until he knew why I had ordered him to do so."

Harry nodded again. "Tom, how long do you plan on having me keep pretending?"

"Perhaps until the end of the war? You are the most useful spy I could ever have, after all, who would suspect the Chosen One?" Tom continued to think out loud. "But I fervently wish to have you fighting by my side when you are ready, and that cannot happen without revealing your true allegiance." He paused for a moment, tapping his chin with an elegant finger as he thought. "I think we will simply wait for the right moment. When to reveal the secret will depend greatly on the speed of our progress."

"That makes sense," Harry agreed. Then, shyly, "I know I didn't say this before, but I liked the part of my dream when we were fighting together, too." Tom and Harry smiled at each other, looking deeply into each other's eyes. Intense green and red gazes met. Ebony covered heads moved closer together. Tom's head, seemingly of its own accord, began to tilt ever so slightly to the left, just as Harry's did the same to the right. Harry's hand came up to touch Tom's cheek. Tom's bangs fell forward, gently brushing Harry's face.

Then, unbidden, Harry's voice echoed in Tom's mind: 'It must be awful to be forced to feel that way about someone.'

Only iron control kept Tom from pulling away entirely. Instead, he moved his head further to the side, put his arms around the smaller man, and pulled him into a hug.

Harry, for his part, was momentarily confused. His arms went around Tom automatically to return the hug. What had just happened? Or really, what had just _not _happened? Without releasing Harry's illusory body, Tom pushed Harry's mind back to Hogwarts.

(1)Yes, I know, in canon Harry destroyed Dumbledore's office because of Sirius' death, and actually calmed down after hearing the prophecy. This story is obviously not canon, and this small change was necessary for the plot.

(2)Yes, this is stolen from Yoda, only with corrected grammar. I don't think Tom would ever have seen Star Wars, so we can all let him believe he's being original.

(3)This scene is taken almost word for word from HBP, with minor changes.


	14. Chapter 14

Wow, thanks so much for all of the amazing reviews for chapter 13! This chapter isn't anywhere near as long, unfortunately—it's more of an interlude. But it does have some fun parts…

Chapter 14

The next morning at breakfast, much to Harry's surprise, a gigantic flock of owls swarmed him as soon as he sat down. "What's all this about?" he said, not asking anyone in particular.

Hermione and Ginny, sitting across from him, shared a knowing look and then simultaneously burst into giggles. "I suppose you'll just have to open them and find out," Hermione said with a smirk worthy of a Slytherin.

Harry cautiously untied the letter from the closest owl's leg. The other owls, eager to be relieved of their burdens and on their way, fluttered closer and began hooting incessantly. Harry sighed. Hermione and Ginny's giggles grew louder.

"You could help, you know," Harry said, glaring.

"We could," Ginny answered. "But I don't think we will—busy eating breakfast and all that." She winked at Harry to show him she was just teasing, and she and Hermione each grabbed one owl out of the horde. They began helping to untie letters. When the last owl had finally flown away, there were forty-two envelopes in front of Harry. He took some kippers, bacon, and a piece of toast and began eating.

"Aren't you going to open your mail?" Parvati Patil asked from a few seats down.

"Nope," Harry said shortly. "Every time this has happened before, it's been bad news. And bad news can wait until I finish my breakfast."

This time, the knowing looks and giggles were shared among all the girls at the table, along with Dean, Ron, and Seamus.

"I'll just open one of them for you then, shall I mate?" Ron asked, chuckling a bit. Harry knew at that point that he was missing something obvious, but he shrugged and nodded.

Ron grabbed the closest envelope, a bright pink one. He opened it and pulled out a sheet of identically pink parchment.

"Dear Harry," he began reading in a ridiculous falsetto voice, "I wrote this poem for you:

Every time I see your face,

I feel a pause in time and space.

That hair, those lips, that nose, those eyes—"

(here Dean and Seamus wolf-whistled and cat-called)

"My stomach fills with butterflies.

If you'll be mine, oh Harry dear,"

(Ron stopped to flutter his eyelashes at Harry)

"You'll fill my heart with joy and cheer.

Dating me would be your gain—

I'm a Ravenclaw with more than brains. Love from—"(1)

He was cut off as Lavender slapped her hand over his mouth. "Ron-ald! Don't say her name! If she heard you reading that poem out loud, she must already be embarrassed enough!"

"She's not in the room!" Ron protested. "I looked before I started reading!"

"You did?" Lavender asked sceptically.

"Sure I did," Ron said, a little too quickly. "Hey Harry, want to hear another one?"

"Are they _all_ like that?" he asked, still confused.

"Well, you'd have to open them to know for sure, but yeah, mate, I reckon they are," said Seamus.

"Why?" Harry asked, still puzzled. Everyone just laughed.

Then Harry figured it out. He smacked his head in his hand. "Today's Valentine's Day, isn't it?"

Everyone laughed harder, and then mockingly applauded him.

Harry grumbled. "Ha ha, very funny everyone," and gathered the rest of the envelopes together. He was planning on binning all of them, but he realized that it would be rude to do it here, where the people who sent them could see.

Later that day, Harry was alone in the Gryffindor common room, throwing all the Valentine cards into the fire. For a moment, especially considering what had almost happened the previous evening, Harry wondered if Tom might send him a valentine. Then he snorted at the stupidity of that thought. "Of course he isn't going to send me a valentine," Harry muttered aloud.

Unfortunately, unbeknownst to Harry, Hermione had been in her dormitory trying to sleep off the beginnings of a cold. She entered the common room just in time to hear Harry say it.

"What do you mean, Harry?" she asked, her eyes slightly gleaming. "Who won't send you a valentine?"

Harry jumped. "Huh?" was all he could think of to say. Maybe if he played innocent, Hermione would think she'd misheard him.

No such luck. "You just said 'Of course he isn't going to send me a valentine.' I know I'm being nosy, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but who were you talking about? Are you seeing somebody?"

Outright denial was not an option, so Harry temporized. "Er…sort of," he replied. "We're friends, and maybe something more, but I don't know how he really feels about me. He doesn't go to Hogwarts, and I don't want anyone to know about it." That should make Hermione assume Harry was talking about a muggle boy.

Hermione smiled at him. "I'm sorry for prying, Harry, and I won't say anything. I just want you to be happy."

Harry returned the smile. "And what about you? Are you hoping to get a card from anyone in particular today?"

She laughed. "I'm too busy studying for any of that. Besides, the boys here are all still too immature. I'd rather not go out with someone who thinks going to a Quidditch match is a romantic date."

Harry put on a look of confusion. "What do you mean? What could be more romantic than Quidditch?"

She didn't fall for it, and she smacked his arm. "I know you're not that dense, Harry. Come on, potions class starts in ten minutes. Professor Slughorn would probably forgive us for being late, but we're starting Veritaserum today, and I want to have plenty of time."

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The Death Eaters gathered with their Lord were currently listening to Peter Pettigrew's report, on the progress he had made in gathering information at the Ministry of Magic. Or rather, the progress he _hadn't_ made, and his excuses therefore. His best method of spying was to use his rather inconspicuous Animagus form, and it generally worked quite well. But the ministry had recently taken to using anti-vermin charms in the offices of all the important personnel, keeping out all the rats—Pettigrew included. He hadn't been able to listen in on anyone but low-level secretaries and maintenance workers, and hadn't even attempted to use any of the other methods of clandestine observation that another agent would have considered. He'd been babbling excuses for the past five minutes, and the other Inner-Circle Death Eaters were beginning to wonder why their Lord hadn't stopped his inane prattling with a Crucio, or better yet, an Avada Kedavra.

Had they been told the reason, they never would have believed it.

The reason Lord Voldemort allowed the rat to continue speaking (and existing) was that he wasn't really paying attention. He knew Pettigrew would have nothing useful to report, and so he was ignoring the worthless idiot. His mind was occupied with the events of the previous evening.

Had he really come within an inch of kissing Potter? Why in Morgana's name would he have done that? Did he _want_ to kiss Potter? And if he did want to kiss Potter, why had he stopped? Never before had he allowed anything to stop him from simply taking whatever he wanted. Guilt and regret were excuses the cowardly and the weak gave themselves for inaction. Lord Voldemort had never allowed himself to give in to those emotions before. The thought that he had fallen into such a pathetic trap infuriated him, and gave him new resolve. If he wanted Potter, he could damn well take Potter! The boy had been stupid enough to consume something known to be contaminated—he deserved whatever happened to him as a result.

So that meant that there was only one question left to ponder—_did_ he want Potter? Then something else occurred to him. He knew, without question, that he wanted Potter as his ally. But Potter was under the influence of Erodition, and would never stop pursuing a romantic relationship. If he gave Potter the antidote, he lost all possibility of keeping the boy as his ally. He could ignore the romantic advances, but it would cause Potter a great deal of distress, and make him unable to concentrate. So—that meant he _had_ to return the advances, or his plan would begin to fall apart.

But why settle for simply returning Potter's advances? He always preferred to take the lead, and this situation was no different. Finally, a bit of Pettigrew's babbling penetrated his reverie.

"And I did hear, my Lord, that Fudge has plans to take his wife out for a romantic dinner on Valentine's Day. Where they are going is top-secret, and nobody knew for sure, but there were some guesses—Le Chinois, or maybe…"

Bellatrix Lestrange's hand was twitching, obviously itching to go for her wand. "Bella," he said, interrupting the rat, and giving the witch a cool smile. "I see that you wish to punish this simpleton for wasting all of our time with his worthless ramblings."

Bellatrix nodded her head submissively and cautiously said, "Yes, my Lord. Forgive my presumption, I know that it is not my place."

Lord Voldemort's smile grew wider by a calculated amount. "You have my permission to do so."

Her wand flew into her hand, and almost before he had finished speaking, Pettigrew was on the ground, screaming and twitching in pain. He allowed his servants to appreciate the sounds of agony for a few moments, then drew his own wand, pointed it at the unfortunate man, and intoned, "Silencio." The Cruciatus curse was not removed; Pettigrew was simply left to suffer in silence. Perhaps he would be driven insane. Lord Voldemort did not care. A plot was forming in his mind. Pettigrew had one last service to do for his Lord. And then he would die, unlamented and forgotten.

"Lucius, your report," he ordered, and the meeting continued. No regard was given to the man still convulsing in silent agony.

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Harry sighed as he appeared in the Chamber. It turned out that Valentine's Day had not been over after the disaster at the breakfast table. He'd also been sent several singing cards, variants on Howlers that sang in the sender's voice, and would not be silenced until their message was delivered. Not that it really made a difference, but he rather thought that girls who couldn't sing would have enough sense to choose a different way to express their admiration. Maybe they just weren't aware of how terrible they sounded.

"Hey Salazar, are you here?" he called out. Salazar didn't answer, but another voice did.

"§Master has a message for you.§"

Harry looked around for the source of the voice, feeling slightly worried. It wasn't possible for anyone but himself, Salazar, and Tom to be in here, and the voice had been distinctly feminine.

"§Down here, stupid human,§" the voice said, sounding annoyed.

Harry looked down, and had to stop himself from jumping back or crying out in fear.

"§Nagini?§" he asked dumbly.

The snake at Harry's feet let out a hiss, and he knew that the sound was intended to convey pleasure. "§Master said you would not remember me. I knew better.§"

Harry blinked, and then let out a small chuckle. "§He should know by now not to underestimate me.§"

The snake let out several low hisses, which sounded suspiciously like a snake's version of a chuckle. Harry reached out, almost automatically, to stroke the smooth scales.

Nagini's head rose up to meet his hand, and they sat like that for a few moments in silence. Then Harry remembered that Tom wouldn't send his familiar to Hogwarts just so that Harry could pet her.

"§You said you had a message for me?§"

"§Yes, Master used the Missaticus spell on me.§"

"§Ah, just a moment then.§"

The Missaticus was another Parselspell, invented by and for the members of the Slytherin line when sending messages to family members. It allowed the sender to seal a written message inside another person. The messenger would not be capable of reading the message, nor giving it to anyone who was not a Parselmouth, as the spell was both cast and released in Parseltongue.

Harry drew his wand and spun it in a small figure-eight pattern while hissing "§Secretum Revelio.§" A rather long roll of parchment appeared next to Nagini. Harry's heart began pounding, wondering why Tom would send him a written message instead of simply waiting for that evening and communicating through their link. After the previous evening, Harry was incredibly nervous. What if Tom didn't want to see him anymore?

"§Aren't you going to read it?§" Nagini asked, poking her blunted nose into Harry's hand.

He bent over, hands trembling, and picked up the note. He was surprised to find a photograph enclosed within the rolled up parchment. He was even more surprised once he saw what the picture showed. It was Peter Pettigrew, quite obviously dead, with a lengthy note pinned to his shirt. His body was laying in the front yard of a home that Harry did not recognize, and it seemed to be early evening. Harry stared for a moment, and then turned to the note.

_My dearest little serpent_, the note began.

_This afternoon, at precisely 5:03 pm, the newly deceased body of Peter Pettigrew was left on the front lawn of Ms. Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Before his sad demise, Mr. Pettigrew wrote out a rather lengthy suicide note, confessing to all of his most heinous crimes, and declaring that the guilt had become too much to live with. After finishing this task, he pinned the note to his own shirt, Apparated to Ms. Bones' home, and drank a small vial of an extremely deadly poison. He should be found this evening when Ms. Bones returns from work._

_Of course, there will be suspicion that this is a hoax. However, further testing will reveal that it _is _the body of Peter Pettigrew, that the note _is_ in Mr. Pettigrew's handwriting, and that it _was _Mr. Pettigrew who poured the vial down his own throat this very afternoon. A spell recently developed by the Department of Mysteries to show whether the Imperius curse has been used on a person within the past twenty-four hours will be used on Mr. Pettigrew, with negative results._

_Eventually, Ms. Bones and her cohorts will be convinced that Mr. Pettigrew's body, and the suicide note attached thereto, are quite legitimate. Sirius Black, previously thought to be a mass murderer and a terrible traitor, will have his name cleared, and history shall remember him as the good and loyal man that he was._

_Happy Valentine's Day, Harry._

The note wasn't signed, but of course it didn't need to be. Harry was struck entirely speechless, and didn't notice the tear making its way down his cheek. Too many emotions were running through his head. Of course, he was happy that the traitor who had caused the deaths of his parents would finally be brought to justice, and that Sirius' legacy would no longer be tainted. On the other hand, Sirius was dead and gone. What good would this do him now? Pettigrew's death had come too late. If only Harry had allowed Sirius and Remus to do as they wished that night two and a half years ago, when he had first learned the truth about his godfather and the traitor.

His thoughts were interrupted by Nagini's head once again prodding his hand. "§What did Master have to say?§"

"§He sent me a gift…a dead rat,§" Harry responded.

"§Master sent you a courting gift?§" Nagini asked, clearly quite shocked.

Harry was just as surprised. "§A courting gift?§"

"§When a snake wishes to take a mate, they present gifts to express their admiration, §" she said, sounding slightly indignant at Harry's ignorance.

Harry laughed. "§I don't think that's exactly what Tom had in mind.§"

"§Today is the day that humans present each other with courting gifts, yes?§"

"§Well, yes, but—but--§"

"§But what? Silly humans, always trying to make mating so complicated. I have to be going now. Master will worry if I don't return soon.§

And with those words, the snake was gone, slithering away faster than Harry would have believed possible. Harry, floating along in a strange mixture of confusion and elation, decided to return to the Gryffindor common room. By the time he arrived, the confusion had mostly worn off, leaving only the jubilation. He tried his best to keep it from showing on his face, but he must not have done too well, since Hermione pulled him aside and asked what had made Harry so happy. Harry leaned down to whisper in his best friend's ear: "He did send me a valentine after all." Hermione gave him a celebratory hug, and then they joined the larger group in the common room, chatting and playing games. Harry knew that he was too worked up to study, but he also knew that it was too early to go to sleep and meet up with Tom. So he joined his classmates in a game of hot potato—played with a ball charmed to squirt water in the face of the unlucky person holding it at the wrong time.

Just when Harry had finally managed to relax and forget about his troubles, he noticed the large grandfather clock in the side of the common room striking eleven o'clock. He couldn't keep himself from letting out a gasp. Hopefully, Tom hadn't already gone to sleep. He bade his housemates goodnight as quickly as he could while trying not to seem like he was rushing, and got into his own bed. Not forgetting to Silence and Seal his bed curtains, he sent a cautious probe across his link to Tom. Feeling an immediate acceptance, he then forced himself into sleep.

In the next instant, he was in Tom's study, and the loveseat that had become the usual furnishing was present, along with the table that Harry had tripped over on his first visit. A gentle fire crackled in the fireplace, and classical music played without any obvious source.

But Harry noticed none of these things. His eyes had immediately connected with Tom's. For a moment, neither man moved. Both looked at the other with the same question in their eyes. Then they both smiled softly. Harry almost looked down, but Tom's eyes held his, and would not let them go. Each knowing the question on the other one's mind, they both nodded. Then, in a moment that was both instantaneous and eternal, they reached for each other. Crimson and emerald gazes remaining interlocked, two pairs of lips inched closer and closer. Their eyes closed as their lips met.

Neither man had intended to give more than a small, gentle peck. But the instant their lips had met, control had fled. Two mouths opened as one, and two tongues collided, dancing together in a rhythm that seemed perfectly practiced. The kiss seemed to take on a life of its own. Having been refused for so long, it would not be denied its full expression.

When he moment had passed and time had resumed its normal progression, a smirking Tom was looking down at a blushing Harry. Without speaking, Tom took Harry's hand and led him over to their usual loveseat. The two men sat down, though Tom did not relinquish Harry's hand. Another moment passed in a slightly awkward silence.

"§Thank you,§" Harry hissed out in their language. "§I can't tell you how much it means to me.§"

Tom shrugged. "§He was no longer useful to me alive. I thought he should at least be useful to you in death.§" Tom wanted Harry to be grateful for the gesture, but not to take it as more than what it was.

"§Still, you didn't have to. I know it doesn't make any difference to you how Sirius is remembered, but it makes all the difference in the world to me. And this time, it's me who didn't get you anything…§" Harry's voice trailed off, and he looked down.

Tom's hand reached out, stroked Harry's cheek, and brought Harry's face back up. "§I can think of something you can give me, little serpent§" he said, in a slightly lower and more sibilant hiss. He pulled Harry in closer, silently asking permission, and, receiving it, he picked up where their last kiss had left off. Harry and Tom spent the rest of the evening alternately kissing, teasing each other, and discussing plans for Spring Break, when Harry would come to visit Tom in person.

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Over the next few weeks, Harry was determined to show Dumbledore that he was, in fact, trying to obtain the memory. So he suddenly became Professor Slughorn's shadow, showing up early to every class and staying after. He asked plenty of questions about the class material, always prefaced with something like, "the textbook didn't say, but I'm sure _you_ know." He came to Slughorn's office to chat, and asked questions about all the famous people pictured on the walls; what they had been like when they were his students and how he had helped them begin their careers. He attended all the meetings of the Slug Club and allowed himself to be led around and introduced to all the famous or important people invited by the professor. He even gave Slughorn a box of crystallized pineapple.

Harry couldn't help but notice that his Potions professor became more and more nervous around him every day. The more naïve person that Harry might have been would have put this down to Slughorn knowing what Harry was after, and fearing being asked. This Harry knew quite well that that wasn't the case. Slughorn saw in him the same behaviour that he had seen in the young Tom Riddle. The eerie physical resemblance didn't help matters. Harry, determined to cause his professor at least as much discomfort as the professor caused him, also made a point of frequently smirking, raising a single eyebrow, and generally copying as many of Tom's mannerisms as he could think of. He was continuing to meet with Tom on a regular basis, generally every other night, and when he mentioned the situation with Slughorn, Tom suggested further ways for Harry to get into the professor's good graces, and of course ways to make the man even more nervous.

His Occlumency lessons also continued, and he made sure to show Dumbledore memories of his attempts to become closer to Professor Slughorn and attain the memory. Dumbledore made no further attempts to make Harry feel guilty, and so Harry assumed that the elderly Headmaster was convinced that he was, in fact, trying.

He was also continuing to visit the Chamber each day, studying Dark spells from the library, cleaning the birds' cage, and checking on the progress of the egg. Finally, one Friday evening, at the end of the first week of March, he came down to the Chamber. Salazar was there, and staring at the egg even more avidly than usual.

"Is something happening?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Yes, yes, the egg is hatching!" Salazar yelled.

Knowing that baby basilisks imprint on the first moving thing they see as their 'mother,' and knowing that the new hatchling was to be Salazar's pet, Harry stood back. From where he was, he could see that there were already several large cracks in the surface of the egg, and that something was obviously moving inside.

"Do you think it's all right to Vanish the toad now?" he asked Salazar. "I know it hasn't hatched yet, but I don't want the baby to have a hard time getting out."

"It should be," the spirit replied. "The egg is already open."

So Harry Vanished the conjured toad, and they continued waiting. After almost half an hour, the struggling creature finally won free. A piece of eggshell lifted, and a little head peaked through.

Much to Harry and Salazar's disappointment, that head was covered in downy yellow feathers.

Harry's heart fell at the look in Salazar's eyes. He knew the spirit had been extremely hopeful at the thought of having a new basilisk for company. "Hey, don't worry," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "We'll try again. We've got another egg here already, and I've got a plan for getting a real toad."

Salazar took a moment to compose himself, then responded. "You're right, Harry. We knew this might not work. We'll try again."

"And we'll keep trying until it works," Harry affirmed.

"What do you want to do with that?" Salazar asked, pointing to the newly hatched chick.

"Well," Harry began slowly. "There is one more curse that I need to learn."

Salazar of course knew what Harry was referring to. "Only if you are absolutely certain that you are ready," he replied somberly. "Once cast, it can never be taken back."

"If I didn't know and understand that, I wouldn't be able to cast it. 'One must understand what it truly is to end a life,' as you put it in one of your books. I probably know more about the ending of a life than most people ever learn."

"Yes, but you've never been on this end of it before, lion cub."

"Do you doubt that I can?" Harry asked, beginning to get angry.

"No. I only doubt that you truly wish to."

"I thought you of all people would have known that I am not such an innocent! Why is everyone so determined to see me as the Golden Boy?" Harry yelled. Without waiting for a response, he turned his wand on the newly born chick chirping innocently for its mother and yelled, "Avada Kedavra!" Green light burst forth from his wand and hit the baby bird. It fell over instantly, dead.

Salazar laughed approvingly. "Well done, Harry. Well done indeed."

Harry quickly realized something. "You were goading me into it, weren't you?"

"And if I was?"

"Then I thank you for doing your best to make sure I succeeded in my first attempt at that spell."

They both smiled. Harry yawned, and said, "It's getting late, so I guess I'd better be going now."

"Indeed, you don't want anyone to come looking for you. When will we begin our next attempt?"

Harry thought about it for a moment. "Spring holidays begin in one week, and I'm leaving the castle for once, so I'll be gone for two weeks. Would you be all right with watching the egg on your own? I'd be back before it was time for the egg to hatch."

Salazar chuckled. "As you so rightfully pointed out, the egg won't really be doing anything. I think I can handle it."

Harry laughed too. "Good. I'll put my plan into action soon, and we'll have a real toad down here no later than Thursday."

"I look forward to hearing all of the impressive details on Thursday evening, then."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "I thought boasting about one's evil plots was only done by idiot villains in movies, not true Slytherins?"

"Yes, but you're a Gryffindor. Besides, it's all right to boast—as long as it's only to your _allies_, and only _after_ the plot is completed."

"Touche, my friend. Until Thursday, then." Harry bowed mockingly and vanished from the Chamber.

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Thursday afternoon, in the Gryffindor sixth year boy's dormitory, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Dean Thomas were peacefully studying together for an upcoming Transfiguration examination. Harry was mostly just tutoring his roommates, but he didn't mind.

All of the sudden, Harry yelled, "Crookshanks, no!" and jumped to his feet, racing towards Neville's bed. All three of the other boys followed, seeing what Harry was looking at.

Unfortunately, it was too late. Harry dove onto Neville's bed just in time to see Crookshanks lick his lips and purr in contentment, having just finished swallowing Trevor, Neville's pet toad.

Neville, obviously fighting back tears, sat down next to the cat, as all three of the other boys tried to offer some little bit of consolation. After a while, Neville swallowed, and then said the last thing any of them would have expected.

"Don't tell Hermione, okay guys?"

"What?" Dean exclaimed.

"I said, don't tell Hermione. I know she'd feel absolutely terrible about it, and it's not her fault. That's what cats do. Trevor was awfully old anyway, and at least he didn't feel any pain. Maybe now I can get a cat like I always wanted. If anybody asks, just say he died of old age." With that, Neville closed the curtains around his bed, getting some privacy to mourn the loss of his pet. The other three boys gradually returned to their studying, with a couple of comments about how it was too bad. Harry felt his respect for the clumsy boy grow even higher. He resolved to buy Neville that pet cat he wanted, or better yet, a Kneazle kitten. It was his fault that Neville had lost Trevor, after all, even if no one but Harry and Salazar ever knew.

(1) I did write this poem myself--I know it's bad. It's supposed to be bad. In fact, I had a little bit of trouble making it bad enough. XD


	15. Chapter 15

Thanks again to all reviewers! I have decided to enable anonymous reviews...because I want more reviews. ;)

Enjoy!

Chapter 15

"So then what happened?" Salazar asked, chuckling slightly.

"Well, this morning, I got up earlier than the other boys in my dorm. I cast a little charm to make sure they'd all stay asleep until I was finished. I found Trevor underneath Seamus' bed, and I put him in this box," Harry began, gesturing at a cardboard box poked with holes to allow the animal inside to breathe. "Then I Silenced him and put him under my bed, with a Notice-Me-Not charm just to be safe. I Transfigured a beetle into a substitute toad, and left the fake Trevor on top of Neville's trunk."

"And then?"

"Later this afternoon, I used the Imperious curse on Hermione's cat, a part-Kneazle named Crookshanks. When the moment was right, I made Crookshanks eat the fake Trevor. It wasn't very hard—the cat wanted to do it, anyway."

Salazar frowned. "Won't your friends cat hate you now? Kneazles are known for their sense of untrustworthy people."

Harry shook his head. "No. I made sure to cast the Imperious underneath my Invisibility Cloak and from around a corner. The cat has no idea it was me. Besides, I've done nothing to make myself untrustworthy to _Hermione_. If Kneazles hated everyone who was untrustworthy to some people some of the time, they wouldn't like anyone."

Salazar snickered. "Yes, this one is definitely a Slytherin. So, you are now in possession of a stolen toad, and no one has any reason to suspect that you were involved, or that the toad is even missing. Excellently done, lion cub."

"Thank you. I do feel a little bad for Neville, but not too much. Trevor probably doesn't have a lot longer left, anyway. Besides, based on how he acted after it happened, I don't think Neville really liked having a pet toad. I'll get him a new pet, and that should make sure that everyone forgets about Trevor entirely."

"And because you are a caring friend. Don't feel that you have to hide your noble side. It does you credit."

"Really?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Truly. Of course, it doesn't hurt that it may also cause your enemies to underestimate you as 'soft-hearted.'"

Harry snickered. "Well, let's get basilisk experiment number two underway, shall we?" Without waiting for a response, he settled Trevor the toad comfortably over a fresh chicken egg and cast all the necessary spells. "Now that that's done with, I'm afraid I have other appointments."

"Who could possibly be more important than me?" Salazar said, raising his nose snobbishly.

"Helga," Harry replied. "I promised to visit her again before I left, and it can't be tomorrow night, because I have to meet with Dumbledore then. I leave Saturday morning."

"Yes…to spend one week with your friend, and the next week with your…other friend," Salazar said, smirking.

Harry blushed. "Yes, well…I'm leaving now."

"Be safe, lion cub. And enjoy yourself."

It was Harry's turn to smirk. "I will. I'll see you in two weeks." With a final wink, Harry disappeared from the Chamber, instantly reappearing in Helga's kitchen.

"Harry!" a voice exclaimed. "I was just starting to wonder if you'd forgotten about me!"

"How could I forget you? Besides, you know if I did you'd just kidnap me again," Harry replied jauntily.

"So, what's the latest gossip?" Helga asked, as a rocking chair appeared next to her.

Harry sat. "Well, for starters, he isn't angry with me anymore."

Helga gave him a death glare. "I could have guessed that. What else?"

"We've spent lots of time plotting ways to nettle Professor Slughorn."

"He deserves it. Go on."

"I'm going to visit him for one week of the spring holidays."

"Getting better…come on, Harry, I know there's more."

"He sent me a valentine?"

Helga smiled. "Yes, I heard the story from Sal. It was terribly sweet. But there's still more you're not telling me."

"How do you know?" Harry asked stubbornly.

"Aw, you haven't figured out what my Gift is yet?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," Harry said, a little off put by the sudden change of topic.

"I might be offended if I didn't know that you've had other things on your mind lately. Speaking of which, what else haven't you told me yet?"

"Do I have to?" Harry whined.

"Only if you ever want to leave," Helga replied sweetly.

Harry sighed. "Fine. Er…hekissedmeandIkissedhimbackandthenwediditagain. A lot," he added quietly.

Helga giggled and clapped. "I knew it! I would ask you how you feel about it, but there's no need, happiness is coming off of you like the scent from a loaf of fresh bread. Now, I'm sure you'd like to go so you can get some sleep tonight, but before you do, I have something for you." She reached down into the large canvas bag at her feet and pulled out two scarves. "I don't usually do this for anyone but my Hufflepuffs, but in the case of you and Tom, I can make an exception. Here."

Harry took the scarves, one in Gryffindor red and gold, and the other in Slytherin green and silver. They were similar to the ones Harry had seen her make before, but these didn't just radiate warmth. They radiated magic. "Helga, I can sense some sort of spells in these. What are they?"

"Oh, just a few protection charms, a charm to make them lightweight, one to be unbreakable, one that keeps you from losing it…nothing too special."

"Thank you, Helga," Harry said sincerely, hugging the matronly woman.

"Don't mention it. Now, you'd best get to bed. Have a wonderful holiday, with Hermione and with Tom, and get some rest! Don't forget to come see me when you get back!"

"Of course," Harry replied. "Thanks again Helga! Goodbye!" With those words, Harry left the old kitchen.

The next evening was Friday. Harry was terribly excited for both of the two weeks. It would be interesting meeting Hermione's parents, and he looked forward to the time with his friend. And then, of course, would be his week with Tom. He was excited for that, of course, but also a little bit nervous. He'd actually be working with Tom, helping him with real missions. What if he screwed it up?

Well, he'd just have to cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, he had one last Occlumency "lesson" with Dumbledore to get through.

"Good evening, Harry," he was greeted as he passed through the door to the Headmaster's office.

"Good evening, sir" he replied politely. And then, an immediate attack came on Harry's mental shields. He struggled for a moment, not to keep the man out—he was always prepared for a mental invasion, these days—but to keep up the appearance that he was still learning. After a month of lessons, he didn't have to pretend to be quite so bad, but he obviously couldn't seem to be proficient, either. After a few minutes of struggle, he "gave up," and let the old professor see a few harmless memories.

"Well done, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I do apologize for the unexpected attack, however, I wished to see how you would handle it. You did well."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied, complete with a fake blush. "I'm really trying."

"And I have seen that you are really trying to retrieve Professor Slughorn's memory, as well. Have you made any progress?"

"No sir," Harry answered, hanging his head. "I think I've gotten close, but every time I think I might get him to give me the memory, he changes the subject, or he has someone else to talk to, or something else to do! He's just so—so—"

"Slytherin?" the old man suggested in an amused voice.

"Yes!" Harry yelled.

"Do not lose patience, Harry. I believe that you will find a way, in time."

"Thank you, sir. I won't stop trying." More like I won't _start_ trying, Harry thought wryly.

"Now then, let us continue our lesson for today. I believe we can move past shielding. You're not quite proficient, but that will come with time and practice, not further lessoning. For today, let us discuss misdirection—that is, guiding an attacking Legilimencer to those memories that you wish for him to see."

And the 'lesson' continued, with Harry keeping up the façade of ignorance. When it was finally over, he went to bed, tired, but looking forward to the next day.

He wasn't expecting to see Tom that evening, but he found himself there anyway soon after falling asleep.

"Tom!" Harry exclaimed. "What brings you here? Or rather, me here?"

"You cannot perform magic while visiting your muggle friend's home."

"That's true. What does that have to do with seeing you tonight?"

Tom sighed. "Which means, of course, that you will be unable to create any sort of magical privacy barrier."

Harry, cottoning on, chimed in, "And when we talk like this, my body's in sort of a coma. So if something happened, Hermione and her family might get really worried when they couldn't wake me up."

Tom smiled. "Indeed. So, this being our last night together until we meet in person, I thought we might go over the plan once more."

It was Harry's turn to sigh. "Tom, we've been over the plan every night this week. I know it. You know it. You know I know it."

"What is that muggle aphorism? Oh, yes, better to be safe than sorry."

"Fine," Harry pouted. "Next Saturday, at around 1:00 pm, I leave Hermione's house by the Knight Bus. I take the Knight Bus to London, and get off at Trafalgar square. I check into that muggle hotel where you made a reservation for me for six nights, and leave my luggage there. Don't bring anything but my wand; you'll provide me with clothes and anything else I need. In the hotel room, there will be a basket of fruit and wine. That basket will be a portkey. To activate the portkey, I will need to say "§Open sesame--§" Harry stopped to roll his eyes at Tom--"and the portkey will take me to the outskirts of your manor, wherever that is. You will meet me there and bring me inside the wards."

Tom nodded his head. "All seems to be in order. Just one thing—what have you told your friends? They must be curious about where you are spending the second week of your holiday."

Harry's cheeks turned just the slightest bit pink. "Well, I told almost everyone that I'm spending both weeks at Hermione's house."

Tom's eyebrow rose in its habitual manner. "Then what, pray tell, did you say to Miss Granger?"

The slight tinge of rose on Harry's cheeks turned to a deep scarlet. "I…er…said I was spending the week with my boyfriend."

Tom smirked predatorily. "Am I your boyfriend, Harry?" he asked silkily.

Harry's cheeks became a shade of red previously only seen on tomatoes. He couldn't answer.

Tom, finding the blush oddly endearing, leaned over to kiss Harry's cheek. "I suppose I must be. I know you would never lie to Miss Granger."

When the next morning arrived, Harry and Hermione were chatting in the common room, excited for the upcoming visit. They were watching their house mates rushing around in preparation to leave with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. Hermione, of course, had packed her things well in advance, and had insisted that Harry do the same. As a soon to be guest in Hermione's home, Harry really couldn't refuse.

Ron and Ginny were travelling to France for the holiday. They were staying with the Delacours, at that family's insistence, so that the two families could get to know each other before the upcoming wedding. Ron was uncertain whether to be excited about seeing Fleur again or peeved to be spending two weeks with 'stuffy French snobs,' as he put it, but Harry and Hermione had been greatly relieved to hear it. Though they were still friends, neither one really wanted to invite Ron for the week, nor would they want to so obviously leave him out.

The train ride to London had been going quite well, marked only by games of Exploding Snap and Gobstones. And then, the food trolley passed by. Harry, generous as always, bought a good amount of chocolate frogs to be shared among his friends. A game of wizard's chess was about to begin when suddenly, Ginny burst out in hysterical laughter.

"What's so funny?" Ron asked, looking at Ginny like she'd suddenly gone off the deep end.

Ginny, however, couldn't talk—she was far too busy laughing. Instead, she held up the wizard card that had come with her chocolate frog. Hermione plucked it out of Ginny's hand and scanned it quickly.

"Oh," she said quietly. "It's…erm…not really that funny. How about that game of chess now, Ron?"

"Wait a minute," Ron said. "She's still laughing, it must be something good." He snatched the card away from Hermione.

"Harry Potter," he read from the shiny card. "The Boy-Who-Lived."

For a moment, the compartment was completely silent. No one dared to move. Ginny stopped laughing instantly. Everyone held his or her breath, looking at Harry to see how he would react.

Ron was the singular exception. He didn't seem aware that Harry might take offense. He kept reading. "Harry Potter is known for his defeat of You-Know-Who in October of 1981. He survived the killing curse—the only person known to have done so—and was only one year old when it happened."

The air in the compartment had gotten impossibly tenser. Now, even Ron was aware of Harry's discomfort. He made awkward stuttering noises, and managed to get out something that sounded like "sorry…I didn't think…" before he fell silent.

Harry let out a breath. Finally, he took the card from Ron, looked at the picture of himself at eleven years old, and smiled. "It's a bit out of date, isn't it?" he said.

Everyone else relaxed and laughed. "Maybe we should write them a letter," Neville suggested. "I'm sure Colin has a more recent picture."

Harry groaned. "Can we just get back to the wizard chess, please?"

"Oh, but Harry, I was hoping you'd sign the card for me," Ginny teased, batting her eyes at him.

Harry smirked. He Conjured a quill and some ink, and signed the back of the card. He Banished the conjured objects, and handed the card back to Ginny.

She squealed, and then yelled "Harry!" while punching him in the arm.

Across the top of his own face, Harry had drawn in a moustache, goatee, and devil horns. He had signed it, "Wayne Kerr."

"At least we know fame hasn't gone to his head," Hermione muttered.

The train ride came to a close, and Harry prepared to get off. It was rather strange, looking forward to the moment the train would pull into the station. Usually, Harry dreaded that moment with all his heart. He felt a brief stab of remorse, thinking about having parents of his own who would meet him at the station and be happy to see him again. Well, he had Hermione's parents, and he had Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. It wasn't his own parents, but it was still something that made Harry immensely happy.

After disembarking, he found himself scooped into the usual hug from Mrs. Weasley, being squeezed for all he was worth. He smiled and said hello to her and Mr. Weasley, and the twins, who had come along for the ride. Then he saw Hermione talking quietly with her parents. He said his goodbyes to the Weasleys and made his way over.

Hermione's features were a blending of her two parents. Her father was exceptionally tall and her mother was quite short, while Hermione was in the middle. Her father's hair was dark brown, and it fell in small, tight curls, and her mother's hair was a long, straight blonde.

"Dr. Granger and Dr. Granger," Harry said, nodding politely at each adult in turn. "I know we've met before, but it's been a long time. I'm Harry Potter, Hermione's friend from school."

Hermione's mother shook Harry's offered hand first, then Hermione's father. "Please, Harry, call us Mike and Rhonda. It could get confusing otherwise, with two Dr. Grangers in the house!"

Harry laughed. They loaded their trunks onto trolleys, since they weren't able to use magic, and headed toward the car. Harry began a conversation with Mike about school, and some of the tamer adventures they'd had together, while Hermione talked with her mother about the upcoming NEWT exams. Hermione caught Harry's eye for a moment, and they both smiled. The visit had been a good idea.

For the first two days of the week, they all toured London together. Harry, of course, had never been taken anywhere by the Dursleys, so the sights were all new to him. Hermione's family all loved history, and so the visits to the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, and all the old cathedrals were all very informative. It wasn't really his cup of tea, but the obvious enthusiasm of all three Grangers made it enjoyable nonetheless. Hermione had also gotten better at picking out the bits of history that would be interesting to the average person, and she would make sure to tell Harry some of those.

On Tuesday, they returned to the Granger's home in Leeds. It was quite large, with five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, a parlour, a living room, and two studies. The decoration was mostly simple, but in good taste. It was a place that said 'home.' Harry was led to an upstairs guest bedroom. The family would be going out to dinner at a nice restaurant and then a show at the community theatre, so they were all taking a chance to freshen up. Harry, on Hermione's advise, had ordered some nicer muggle clothing from a catalogue, so he did have something to wear. Unfortunately, he still had one problem—he had no idea how to tie a tie. Uncle Vernon had certainly never taken the time to show him.

As he sat on his bed trying to work it out, he heard a knock at his door. "Come in," he called. Hermione, wearing a knee-length light blue dress, opened the door. "Are you ready?" she asked.

Harry was a little embarrassed at having to ask for help getting dressed like some little kid. But there was nothing for it. "I…er…don't know how to do this," he mumbled, holding up the tie.

"Oh!" she said. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think about that. I should've known." She slipped the tie over his head and brought both ends around to the front. Tying a basic half-Windsor knot, she then pulled it tight and tucked it under his collar. She stepped back to assess her work. "Lovely," she said, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Neither teen was aware of Hermione's parents, watching and smiling from just outside the room.

Friday night had arrived, the last night of Harry's stay with the Grangers. He and Hermione had had a wonderful holiday, alternately studying and relaxing. He also enjoyed the company of the adult Grangers. Just as Harry was about to go to sleep, someone knocked on his door. "Come in," he said, expecting Hermione.

But instead it was Mike who opened the door. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked.

Harry, sensing that this might not be a comfortable conversation, considered claiming to be too tired. But that would be incredibly rude, and Mike had been very friendly and hospitable. "Sure, Mike," he replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "What can I do for you?"

Mike was also obviously uncomfortable. "Well, um…you see, you and Hermione seem very…um…comfortable together. And Rhonda and I think you're a very sweet and polite young man, but…we'd like to know what your intentions are toward our daughter."

Harry blinked. Was he hearing this correctly? "I'm sorry sir…you think…Hermione and I are…well…together?"

"Maybe not yet, but you will be someday. The signs are all there, Harry. A parent knows."

"I'm gay," Harry blurted out, stunned into simple honesty.

"What?" Mike asked.

"I'm…er…I said…that is…well, gay," Harry repeated, realizing that that might not have been the best thing to blurt out.

Mike continued staring at him in shock.

"Hermione is like a sister to me. We _do_ love each other very much, but not…er…in that way," he continued, trying to 'dig up.'

"Oh!" comprehension dawned on Mark's face. "I see. I suppose Rhonda wins that one."

"What?" Harry asked dumbly.

"We had a bet. I thought you were Hermione's boyfriend. Rhonda was absolutely certain you were gay. Woman's intuition, I suppose." He smiled wryly. "Well, in any case, Rhonda and I want to thank you for taking care of Hermione at school. She's always had such a hard time making friends. We thought things would be better when she went to Hogwarts. But for the first two months she was there, she was desperately unhappy. Oh, she enjoyed the learning, of course, but she still couldn't make friends, and she was away from us, and everything that had ever been familiar to her. And what did we know about her world? We couldn't do anything to help. But after she became friends with you—well, it made all the difference in the world. So—thank you, Harry."

Mike held out his hand, and Harry took it, somewhat benumbed. "You're welcome, sir, but really, you don't have to thank me for being friends with Hermione! Her friendship has been everything to me. I don't know exactly how much Hermione has told you about me, or about our times at school, but there have been a couple of times when she was basically the only person who didn't turn on me. I never could have made it without her."

"I'm glad we got to meet you, Harry," Mike replied. "You're always welcome here. Rhonda and I really hope that we'll see you again sometime."

With those words, Mike let himself out of the room. Harry smiled. He and Hermione, together? Even if he hadn't been gay, he didn't think that would have happened. Hermione was like his sister. She had been since they were eleven years old.

His thoughts turned to what awaited him on the following day. He would be travelling to see Tom. He couldn't wait. Even using Occlumency to organize his thoughts and calm himself, it still took him a long time to fall asleep.

Next week...Harry's visit with Tom!


	16. Chapter 16

I do apologize for making everyone wait another week for the visit, but this chapter just wasn't ready yet. Here it is, a rather long chapter--I hope you'll find it worth the wait. XD

Review, please!

Chapter 16

Having been unable to fall asleep before two, maybe three, the previous morning, Harry slept quite late on Saturday morning, until noon. Mike and Rhonda were spending a rare Saturday at their office to make up for the week they had taken off, and had already left. They had said their goodbyes the previous evening. Harry, knowing that he needed to leave at one, immediately rushed out of bed. As he threw open the door, he found Hermione standing in front of it, poised to knock.

"Hermione! Why did you let me sleep so late?" Harry exclaimed.

She looked confused. "I didn't think you were leaving until one."

"I'm not, but it's already noon, isn't it?"

"Well yes, but you don't usually need more than fifteen minutes to get ready. You don't usually sleep late, so I assumed that if you were, you must need it, and I didn't want you to be tired later," she finished, a knowing smile growing over her face.

"Yes, but today, I need more time! I've got to get in the shower!"

Hermione laughed as Harry bolted past her into the bathroom, peeling off clothes as he went. She picked up the clothes that had been thrown to the floor and went to put them in Harry's travelling bag. Opening up the bag, she ruffled through the clothes until she found the items she was looking for.

When Harry had finished his shower and returned to the guest room wrapped in a towel, he found an outfit laid out on his bed. It was some of the muggle clothing Hermione had helped him order, specifically, an emerald green button-up silk shirt and a tight pair of black denims. They weren't Harry's favourites, but Hermione and Ginny said he looked good in them, and he thought they were probably better judges of such things than he was. He smiled, knowing that Hermione wanted to help him look his best for his visit to his 'boyfriend.'

He finished getting ready, and even added a splash of the magical cologne Remus had gotten him for Christmas. Instead of having a specific scent, it was simply charmed to smell good. No one would be able to say precisely what it smelled like, but they would enjoy the scent. From smelling the bottle, it seemed to Harry like it worked.

He'd packed up most of his things the night before, so all he needed to do was put a few last minute things away. He glanced around the room to make sure he hadn't left anything behind, made up the bed, and then grabbed his bag and went downstairs.

"Harry! You look wonderful. I'm sure this mystery boy of yours will be thrilled to see you."

Harry smiled. He didn't think he was all that much to look at, especially not when compared with Tom, but he knew from experience that arguing with Hermione never got him anywhere. "Thanks, Hermione," he said, while giving her a small hug.

"What is that cologne you're wearing?" she asked after they separated. "It smells good, but I can't quite say what it smells like."

"I guess it's working then. Remus gave it to me for Christmas, and that's exactly what it's supposed to do."

"Yes, it works quite well. I wonder if they make it in a woman's perfume."

"If they do, I'll get you some," Harry promised.

"Harry! You don't have to buy me anything!"

Harry shrugged. "No, I don't have to. But I'd like to. I can't thank you enough for inviting me to come home with you this week. It's been absolutely wonderful."

Hermione smiled gently and a little bit sadly. "Thank _you_ for coming. I'm so glad that my parents finally got to meet you. They still don't really understand about school, and it's nice to be able to show them that I'm not just making things up. Now," she said, with more than a trace of the bossiness she was famous for, "you'll send me an owl when you get there, right? I want to know that you've arrived safely."

"Actually," Harry began nervously, "I was hoping that you might keep Hedwig here with you for the week. I'll be in the muggle world, and I don't want to make anyone suspicious or uneasy by carrying an owl around with me."

"Of course she can stay here, Harry, but I'd still like to know that you're okay. Maybe you can just send her to me after you get where you're going."

"But then I'd have to travel with her, and she hates the Knight Bus. But," Harry said, with an ironic smile, "I think I can probably use one of those 'fellytones' I've heard so much about."

"Oh," Hermione replied, blushing. "Yes, I suppose that just might work."

The two friends finished saying their goodbyes, and at one pm on the dot, Harry walked out to the sidewalk and stuck out his wand arm. A minute later, he was climbing aboard the Knight Bus, waving goodbye to Hermione as he did.

He was wearing a hooded jacket, partially due to the chilly March weather, and partially to cover up his hair and his scar. He'd also decided to borrow the scarf that Helga had made for Tom. With his most well-known features hidden from sight, and in Slytherin colours, no one recognized him, and he was able to journey from Leeds to London in peace. Well, as much peace as anybody else on the Knight Bus, anyway.

He disembarked two hours later at Trafalgar Square. Throwing his bag over his shoulder, he began the short walk to the Sofitel London St. James Hotel.

Upon entering the lobby, he couldn't help but be impressed. He didn't know the first thing about décor, but he knew by the elegance of the building that it was an expensive hotel. He was suddenly very glad that he was not still wearing Dudley's old things. He'd likely have been kicked out dressed like that.

Feeling slightly nervous, he approached the reception desk. A middle-aged woman in a blue business suit greeted him. "Good afternoon sir, welcome to the Sofitel St. James Hotel. May I help you?" Though her greeting was warm, her eyes regarded him suspiciously. Harry supposed he did look a little young to be checking into a hotel by himself, especially such an expensive one.

He drew himself up, and did his best impression of Draco Malfoy. He had to make her believe he was the spoiled child of a wealthy family, making the most of his school holidays. If she thought he was some sort of runaway, she might call the police.

"Yes," he drawled, putting on his best superior smirk. "I have a reservation for the week. The name is Peverell, Dominic Peverell. And I'll need a bellboy. My bag is rather heavy."

The woman's eyes went from suspicious to slightly irritated, and Harry knew he'd done his job. "Of course, sir. Just one moment." Her fingers flew over the keyboard. "Here it is. The Prestige Suite for seven nights, prepaid." She handed him an envelope embossed with the hotel logo. "Here is your key. James will take you to your bag and show you to your room," she finished, motioning to a young man in a porter's uniform.

"Thank you," Harry said, with the air of one who says it out of a sense of duty to maintain societal standards rather than any genuine sense of gratitude.

He was led to a room on the fifth floor. James opened the door, set his bag on a waiting luggage stand, and showed him where the light switches, refrigerator, and remote for the telly were. Harry pulled out a five-pound note and slipped it to James as they shook hands.

The porter took the tip with a small smile, and said, "Thank you, sir. Will you be requiring any…_special services_ during your stay with us?"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, not having the faintest idea what the man was talking about.

"Are you interested in any recommendations for your _entertainment_ this evening?" the man said, his eyes moving significantly to the king-sized bed and back.

Harry, finally catching on, almost spoiled his act by blushing. But he caught himself, and instead replied, "No, thank you. I've already made arrangements for my _entertainment_."

The man nodded. "If there is anything you require, please don't hesitate to call the bell desk. Someone is on duty twenty-four hours a day." With that, he left, and Harry was alone in the room.

If it hadn't been clear enough before, now it was completely obvious that Tom had gone to a great deal of expense to provide this room for Harry. It was, as the name implied, not just one bedroom and one bathroom, but almost an entire house. The first room was a living room, with a huge fireplace, three couches, two armchairs, and a large television. Then there was a small kitchen, equipped with a refrigerator and a microwave. The bathroom had a gigantic spa tub next to a sizeable shower, and was furnished with a terrycloth robe and slippers. Finally, there was the bedroom, which had a king-sized bed that rivalled the comfort of his bed at Hogwarts, another television, and a picture window that opened up to a magnificent view.

Harry found the basket of fruit and wine that had been left by Tom, accompanied by a sealed envelope with his assumed name written on it. Harry opened the envelope and pulled out a note written on plain stationery.

_Dear Harry_, it read.

_I am in eager anticipation of your arrival. I have quite the week planned for the two of us._

_While our days will be spent together, I'm afraid that my manor, though generally quite nice, lacks accommodations for guests. When it was originally built, there were separate buildings for housing guests, and even the family's children. Only the Lord and Lady of the manor stayed within the main house. I suppose my ultimate ancestor was a rather suspicious man. The outer buildings, however, were allowed to fall into disrepair, and are no longer fit for habitation._

_So I hope that you will find this room adequate for your night time accommodations. _

_You will recall, I believe, my request that you leave everything but your wand within the room. Dumbledore, I am certain, is less than sanguine about you being out of his custody for two weeks, and I would not put it past him to have cast tracking charms on your clothing or personal effects. Fortunately, the nature of wands is such that it is not possible for them to be Tracked magically, nor would a muggle device be able to do so. I would rather not have any unexpected company._

_I have provided clothing for you, which you will find in the wardrobe. I'm afraid that I am unable to provide a replacement pair of glasses, as I do not know the correct prescription. They are the item most likely to be Tracked, however, and so they must be left behind._

Harry froze after reading that. What would he be able to do without his glasses? He was completely blind without them. Was Tom crazy? Then he realized he should probably keep reading.

I_ undertook to research magical eyesight correction on your behalf, and I have found a spell. It is not commonly used because it requires a great deal of power, as well as the ability to visualize the problem and the mechanics of correcting it. One must have a perfect understanding of the anatomy of the human eye to do so. I will perform it for you when you arrive._

_One final note: As you may or may not be aware, the ministry is able to track locations where magic is performed, but not the specific witch or wizard performing it. The hotel where you are staying is also currently hosting a worldwide convention for makers of broomsticks and broomstick accessories. Therefore any magic you perform while staying there will go quite unnoticed._

_I__ will expect your arrival at five o'clock this afternoon._

Harry glanced at the clock. Noticing that it was still only four, he decided to go ahead and take another shower. The Knight Bus, after all, didn't seem to be cleaned on any sort of regular basis.

As he was peeling off his clothes to get into the shower, it occurred to him that he could see if Tom had been right about the Tracking charms. He'd just learned how to detect them in the previous week. Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at his glasses and muttered "Ubicarmen Revelio."

His glasses gave off a pale pink light.

Harry was beyond angry. If this was done 'for his own good,' then why not tell him about it? Didn't Dumbledore trust him? He was about to remove the charm, but then he realized two things. First, as angry as he was, he was likely to put too much power into the spell and break the glasses. Second, the charm had to stay in place. It if was removed, the caster (almost certainly Dumbledore) would know, and would most likely come looking for Harry immediately. Harry certainly didn't want that.

Still grumbling, he continued on into the shower. After finishing, he put on one of the hotel robes, enjoying the soft fluffy cloth. He spelled his hair dry, then headed to the wardrobe to find something to wear.

Opening the door, he found wizard robes, as he was expecting. There were ten different sets in a variety of colours, though all in similar styles, made of velvet with silk lining. He also found boxer shorts in black silk, socks, and a pair of dragon-hide boots. He picked out a robe in emerald green, since everyone was always saying it was his best colour. It looked rather big, but Harry quickly discovered that it changed sizes to fit him when he put it on. He finished getting dressed and noticed that he still had fifteen minutes before five. Then he remembered his promise to ring Hermione. He sat down on the bed, picked up the phone, and dialled her number.

"Granger residence," came the familiar voice. Harry smiled at his friends' formality.

"Hey Hermione, it's me," he replied.

"Harry! That was fast."

"Well, you know the Knight Bus. It's not fun, but it does the job."

She laughed. "Well, I'm sure you have other things to be doing just now, so I'll let you go. Thanks for calling."

"No problem. I'll see you back at Hogwarts, yeah?"

"See you then." They both hung up. Five more minutes had passed. Harry wondered if it would be all right to be ten minutes early. He sighed, decided probably not, and flipped on the telly. He found a channel showing a romantic film. Dudley had watched it a lot, not because he liked romance, but because the lead actress was shown completely naked. Harry sat on the bed staring at the screen, glancing over at the clock every ten or twenty seconds. He wasn't really seeing the movie. His mind was completely taken up with his upcoming visit. Finally, at 4:58, he decided it was time to go. He turned the telly back off, checked to be certain that he had his wand, and walked over the table holding the basket. He took off his glasses, set them on the table, and felt around until he felt the woven wood surface of the Portkey underneath his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, "§Open sesame,§" and felt the now-familiar wrench through his gut.

Where he landed, he couldn't really say for certain, as he was unable to see anything but a blur of green and brown. He did, however, see the red jet of light coming towards him, almost perfectly clearly. It hit him as he landed, and he fell to the ground, completely motionless. At least the ground seemed to be soft grass.

He felt someone leaning over him, and saw a black blur. "§I do apologize, my little serpent,§" Tom's voice hissed in his ear. "§But this spell requires that your eyes remain absolutely motionless.§" The dark blur became more remote, and Harry heard Tom incant, "Occulum Reparo."

Suddenly, he couldn't see anything but a white fog. His eyes felt strange. It wasn't exactly painful, nor was it comfortable. It felt like tiny parts were being delicately rearranged—and Harry supposed they were. After what seemed like about five minutes, the feeling left his eyes, leaving behind a sense of fatigue. "Finite Incantatum," Tom intoned, and Harry found himself able to move again. He instinctually closed his eyes and held them closed, waiting for the fatigue to be over. When it was, he opened them.

He could hardly believe what he saw.

The world was now in perfect detail, better than he had ever seen with his glasses. Colours were sharper, lines were clearer, small details were easily visible, and the range of his vision had greatly increased. Most importantly, he saw Tom in front of him, smirking arrogantly.

"Better?" Tom asked as he offered Harry a hand up.

"It's amazing," Harry whispered, still awestruck. He took the offered hand and brought himself to his feet. Instead of releasing Harry's hand, Tom brought it to his lips, kissed it, and said, "Welcome to my home."

Harry, thrilled by his newfound eyesight, yanked Tom closer by the hand that was still clasping his and smashed their lips together. Their kisses, which had always been passionate and intense, were brought to a whole new level, now that both were truly physically present. Tom's tongue gently licked at Harry's lips, asking for entrance, and Harry gladly granted it. The two tongues stroked and teased each other, while Tom's arms wrapped around Harry's waist, pulling the smaller man closer, and Harry's arms wound around Tom's neck in response, coming up to grab a fistful of ebon hair. Tom's hands wondered lower, past the waist, and gently squeezed the firm, round posterior, eliciting a moan from Harry.

"§I told you it was a courting gift,§" a pleased hiss interrupted their passionate embrace.

"§Nagini!§" Tom hissed, slightly out of breath. "§Didn't I tell you to stay in the house?§"

The snake hung her head. "§Yes, Master.§"

Tom made tsking noises at the snake. "§Then what, pray tell, are you doing outside?§"

"§I was hungry. There are no rodents inside, and Master said not to eat the birds.§"

Harry, who had been following the conversation, chimed in. "§I'm feeling a bit peckish myself.§"

Tom gave up glaring at his familiar, and instead turned to smile at Harry. "§Then I suppose I ought to see to supper for both of you. Nagini, Tibby has a ferret for you in the kitchen, or a groundhog if you'd prefer.§"

The snake hissed thanks, and gave both Tom and Harry affectionate caresses with her long tongue before slithering off.

Tom picked up the basket that Harry had dropped upon his arrival, and motioned for Harry to follow him. The two began walking through the extensive yard toward the house. "Now, Harry, which would you prefer: groundhog, or ferret?"

Harry managed to keep a completely straight face as he replied, "Groundhog, I think. Ferrets are a tad chewy."

Harry had thought they were going into the house, but instead they came to a clearing in the midst of the stately elm trees that populated the yard. The clearing was covered with a soft carpet of green grass, and over that grass a picnic blanket was laid out.

"I'm afraid Nagini will choose the same, and I only have one groundhog left," Tom paused, putting a finger to his chin as if considering what to do. "Perhaps you might make do with this fondue al fresco?"

And indeed, the picnic blanket was laid out with several dishes, filled with various meats and vegetables. There were two place settings, side by side, and each place setting had two small pots kept warm by magical flames.

Harry sighed. "I suppose it will just have to do." Then both men broke into amused chuckles.

Their dinner conversation was mostly light, as Tom refused to discuss the plans for the week. They shared the bottle of wine and some of the fruit that had been in the basket. When they finished eating, Tom Banished the dishes to the kitchen, and laid down on the now bare picnic blanket. He raised an eyebrow at Harry in invitation. Harry took him up on his offer, and lay down with his head on Tom's stomach. Tom's hand began stroking Harry's hair. They lay in silence for some time, watching the star. Though Tom would never admit it out loud, Harry's mere presence made him feel something--something he'd never felt before.

Eventually, Tom broke the silence. "Have you been studying, my little serpent?"

"I have. And I hope you'll give me a chance to prove it to you this week."

"I shall. And I shall teach you things that cannot be learned from books."

Harry turned so that he was facing Tom. "Thank you," he whispered. "For the teaching, the room, the clothes, the eyesight spell…you were right, by the way."

"Of course I was," Tom replied confidently. "What was I right about?"

"The tracking spell on my glasses."

"I trust you left it in place?"

"Of course," Harry said, slightly indignant. "I try not to let my temper do my thinking for me anymore."

"Revenge is a dish best served cold."

"So I've heard. I look forward to finding out for myself."

Tom chuckled. "In that case, I'm certain that you will enjoy my next little gift to you."

"What is it?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"You will find out tomorrow. For now, it is rather late, and we will both have a long day tomorrow. Here," Tom said, Transfiguring the basket into a silver chain and fastening the chain around Harry's neck. "This will take you to and from your hotel room in the mornings and evenings. The password remains the same. I will expect you tomorrow morning at eight for breakfast."

"Goodnight, then, Tom." Harry pressed one last kiss to Tom's lips before hissing the activation words and disappearing into the night.

The next morning, after Tom and Harry finished breakfast, Tom was taking Harry on a quick tour of the manor. It was obviously an old home, and somewhat small, but it was well-constructed and beautifully decorated, and it had the sense of history to it that some older buildings acquire. After showing Harry the duelling room, which, interestingly enough, was right across the hall from the ball room, Tom inquired, "would you like your present now, Harry?"

"What is it? Will I like it?" Harry asked teasingly.

"Hmm, I do believe so, though I admit there is a catch."

"It seems like there always is with you Slytherins."

"I think you'll find it to be worth the cost this time."

They walked back to the kitchen, where Tom opened up the pantry, moved several bags of flour out of the way, and hissed "§Open up.§" A previously hidden door opened in the back of the pantry, revealing torch-lit stairs.

Realization swept over Harry. "This must have been Salazar's house."

Tom smiled. "Very good, Harry. Come, your present awaits."

They walked down the stairs together, hand in hand, and came to another door at the bottom. This one, Tom used a key to unlock. Walking through that door, Harry found himself in a dimly-lit dungeon. There were perhaps ten cells, arranged in a circular fashion, but only one was occupied. In that cell, Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley were huddled together.

"Harry?" Petunia cried out. "Are you here to save us?"

Harry could not hold back the laughter that overwhelmed him. "Why Auntie dearest, what do _you_ think?" he replied mockingly.

"I knew we shouldn't have taken you in! We should've dumped you at the orphanage, or better yet, drowned you! You and your unnatural freakiness! Now look where you've got us!" Vernon shouted, banging his fists impotently against the iron bars of the cell.

"Yes, you're doing a wonderful job convincing me that you deserve my help," Harry stated calmly. Then he turned away from his family.

"I _do_ like this gift," he said to Tom. "Now, what is the catch?"

"They are to be used as learning tools for what I will teach you today."

"Do you mean the three curses I think you mean?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I do. Do you believe you are ready?"

Instead of answering, Harry pointed his wand at Dudley. "Crucio," he intoned calmly.

A rush of rust-coloured light sped from Harry's wand, hitting his obese cousin right in the centre of his chest. Harry's fantasies of seeing his childhood tormentor writhing in pain came true before his eyes. Dudley hit the floor almost immediately, and his screams echoed throughout the dungeon. Far from the guilt Harry thought he might feel, he instead felt exhilarated. He thought back to all of the times that it had been him suffering, either from Dudley's fists or from the loneliness Dudley had forced on him, and could only feel glad that Dudley was finally getting what he deserved. He watched, almost mesmerized, as his cousin continued to scream, not even hearing his aunt and uncle's demands to stop it, to let their poor Dudders go.

The next thing he knew, he was swept up in Tom's arms, and his mouth was being attacked with fervent kisses, which he gladly responded to. When both of them were panting for breath, Tom finally let go.

"When did you learn to do that, little serpent?"

"I've been practicing in the Chamber, using spiders and other Conjured animals. It felt good, but I never even imagined how much better it would feel with a human, especially that lump of filth."

"Harry!" his aunt's shrill voice penetrated the air. "How could you do this to us? We're you're family!"

"Oh, really?" he replied calmly, almost pleasantly. "I lived with you for nearly ten years, plus four summers, yes? And yet, out of all the framed photos on the walls, and all the albums on the bookshelves, there is not one single picture of me. Nor was I given a room in the house, not until you were afraid you'd be punished. I've never had a birthday party, nor have you ever given me a single Christmas present. In fact, you never bought me a single new thing, and you only gave me the old things used up by Dudley grudgingly. Whenever you went out, you left me with Mrs. Figg, and whenever someone asked if I was your son, you made very certain they knew I was _only_ your nephew. You have never said anything even slightly positive to me, and certainly not that you loved me or that you were proud of me. You let Vernon hit me, you let Dudley hit me, and you gave me just barely enough food to get by. On top of all that, you insisted on being paid to 'take care' of me. Tell me, Petunia, does that sound like _family_ to you?"

While his aunt stood there gaping, and his uncle and cousin continued their threats and protests, Harry returned his attention to Tom. "Would you like to see what else I can do?" he asked.

"It would please me greatly," Tom said, giving Harry's face an affectionate caress.

"Imperio," Harry cast, directing the magic at his aunt. She resisted the spell, and it was a very different feeling from casting it on animals, but Harry didn't find it too difficult to overpower her will.

"Vernon," she began suddenly. "I hate you. I hate that I ended up with such a fat, slovenly, nobody! My perfect sister, with her perfect magic, and her _perfect_ looks, married a perfect man. Then they went and had a perfect child, smart, well-mannered, and good looking. And what do I get? A fat slob who doesn't even make decent money, and his fat slob of a brat. And then, my sister, my little Lily, gets blown up! And I, I get her perfect child. And every day, he reminds me of my baby sister, and how perfect she was, and how she had everything. And he's just like her! Bloody _perfect_!"

She probably would have continued on, but Vernon's meaty hand slapped her across the mouth, interrupting her tirade. "Shut up, you bitch!" the man yelled. "You're no prize either! You were damn lucky to marry me, especially with that freakish sister of yours. If we hadn't had Dudley by the time I found out about her, I would've dumped your ass in a heartbeat. You're ugly, a cold bitch in the bedroom, and you can't cook. Dudley's the best thing you'll ever do in your life."

Harry thought Dudley ought to have a say, and so he turned the spell on his cousin. "Do you honestly think I care about you, either of you? As far as I'm concerned, you're nothing but servants and cash machines. You're pathetic, both of you."

"What are you telling them to do?" Tom inquired curiously.

"So far, nothing but tell the truth about how they feel about each other. Shall I make it more interesting?"

"As you wish."

All three Dursleys stopped talking. Vernon suddenly began punching Dudley, who futilely struggled to get away, and when that failed, to block the blows. Petunia looked on impassively. "Don't hit him where anybody will see it," was all she said.

When Dudley had been knocked unconscious, Vernon changed his target to Petunia. Harry released his aunt from the curse, leaving her to feel all the pain and all the emotions. "Help!" she screamed. "Help! Help!"

Harry walked right up to the entrance of the cell and looked her straight in the eyes. "I recall screaming for help, once. It never did me any good, either."

When she, too, had blacked out, Harry turned his wand on his uncle. "I have nothing to say to you. Crucio."

After five minutes or so of enjoying the rush that came from using the torture spell, Harry released it. He sent Ennervate spells at his aunt and cousin.

"What's funny about this, Vernon, Petunia, Dudley, is how different things might have been if you _had_ been my _family_. You probably never would have been in this position, but if you were, I would have done everything in my power to save you. Did you know, by the way, that I have a fortune in gold and silver? If you were my _family_, I would have shared it all with you gladly. You would never have had to work a day in your lives, any of you. Dudley could have gone to Eton, and then Oxford or Cambridge. You could have been important people, looked up to and admired."

Harry paused, staring each one of the muggles in turn straight in the eyes.

"But you refused me. Now I refuse you. You are not my family."

He turned back to Tom, eyes suddenly filled with uncertainty. "Tom?" he said quietly.

"Yes, Harry?" Tom returned gently.

"I've only done this one once before. And that was on a chicken."

"You don't have to, Harry. They'll keep until you're ready."

Harry considered it for a moment. Then he drew himself up and took a deep breath. Without answering Tom, he turned back to the cell. "Goodbye, Vernon, Petunia, Dudley." Three flashes of green light flew from his wand, striking the man, the woman, and the boy in turn. With three thuds, the bodies hit the floor.

Harry found himself once again in Tom's arms, being kissed gently. "I knew you'd want me to be able to use those spells. So I've been studying and practicing them for months. I had to show you I could do it."

"And so you did, and I am very proud, my little serpent. Come now, let's go back up to the kitchen. Tibby should have lunch prepared by now."

The two ascended the stairs, once more hand-in-hand, and a smile broke out on Harry's face. "That was a wonderful present," he said.

After lunch, the two spent the afternoon in the duelling room, a room equipped with stationary targets, moving targets, and simulated opponents. Tom was greatly surprised to find that Harry actually had a few things to teach _him _about how to fight alongside a partner. He himself was rather new to the technique, as no one had ever been able to keep up with him before.

"Did you ever hear about that defence club I taught?" Harry asked, when Tom wondered aloud how Harry had acquired such a skill.

"Yes, Severus told me of it, and the circumstances that led to it."

"Well, we did a lot of work on fighting together. They were kids—I mean, they wouldn't stand a chance fighting against an adult Death Eater, not by themselves. They didn't have that kind of power or skill. So I taught them to work together."

"But who taught you?"

"Hermione gave me some books, and there was some stuff in the library. That was enough information for me to kind of work it out for myself, I guess."

And so the afternoon's practice continued, with Tom being forced to—yet again—re-evaluate his erstwhile partner. Practice continued through Monday, with occasional interruptions for Harry to learn new spells.

Tuesday morning found Harry and Tom together in Tom's study, the same one they occupied during Harry's mental 'visits,' though of course this time, both were physically present. They were seated next to each other, and Tom's arm was around Harry.

"Are you ready?" Tom queried.

"You're sure this won't hurt?" Harry replied uncertainly.

"There may be some discomfort when I enter your body," Tom answered, "but if there is any pain, I will withdraw immediately."

Harry was still a bit uncertain, but he nodded. "Okay. I'm ready."

Tom smiled and kissed Harry's cheek. "Don't forget to focus on the sensations. Remember every detail; exactly how your body feels."

Tom stared directly into Harry's eyes, shutting out everything but the young man in front of him. A heartbeat later, Harry was no longer alone in his body. He could feel Tom's presence in his mind.

Rather than the debilitating agony of the last time he was possessed, he felt a powerful sense of contentment. Harry knew Tom was feeling the same. Their emotions and thoughts were completely open to each other.

"I'm going to begin the change now," Tom thought to Harry.

Before Harry could even think anything else, he felt his body begin to shift. He paid careful attention to the feel of his and Tom's combined magic as it moulded his body. His bones and muscles shifted. His organs adjusted. A tail sprouted from between his buttocks. His teeth grew pointed. Fur grew over his entire body. Harry felt as if he were watching the process in slow motion, but he knew that it was actually happening almost instantaneously.

Just like that, he was a panther. Tom, still controlling his body, showed him how to move; first slowly walking, then he walked outside so that he could show Harry how to run. After a few minutes, Tom gave control back to Harry. Harry attempted to take a step, and fell flat on his face. He could feel Tom's amusement through the mild pain they were sharing. He tried again, remembering how it had felt when Tom was doing it. Success! Soon, he was walking smoothly around the yard. Tom's presence urged him to attempt running. That took several tries, but when he finally mastered it, the feeling of freedom overwhelmed him. Tom finally told him to go back inside, which he did, somewhat reluctantly. When they had reached the study again, Tom gave him a moment's warning before beginning the shift in reverse. A second after reverting to human form, Harry found himself once again alone in his head, which left him feeling curiously empty.

"I hope you were paying attention?" Tom's smooth voice asked.

"Of course I was!" Harry replied indignantly. "That was the point, after all."

"Then you are ready to attempt it on your own?"

"Er…I think so." Harry was nervous, understandably so in his mind. What if he got stuck in the middle of it?

"If you should encounter difficulty, I will come to your aid. Relax, my little serpent," Tom chuckled, probably knowing exactly what Harry was thinking.

So Harry gathered his magic, trying to shape it the same way Tom had. It took him quite a bit longer, but he wasn't worried about speed. That would come with time and practice. Just as he was beginning to feel himself shift, he lost his control over the magic, and the process ended abruptly.

"Damn," he spat out.

"Try it again. You were quite close," Tom soothed.

It ended up taking four tries, but Harry eventually managed to transform on his own. When he had done it, he saw a nearly-identical panther standing next to him. The other panther winked, then jerked his head in a clear indication for Harry to follow as he ran outside. Harry did so, wondering what Tom had in mind. As soon as he made it out of the front door, he found out.

Tom, claws carefully sheathed, pounced on him, initiating a full-out wrestling match. Harry scrambled out from underneath and launched a counter-attack. The tussling continued until both panthers were tired, and then Tom and Harry curled up together for a cat-nap, in the same shady clearing where they had shared their first picnic. Deep purrs rumbled from both chests.


	17. Chapter 17

I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I got caught up in the season premier of Heroes last night, and I completely forgot it was time to update!

If you forgive me, review? Please?

Quick warning: In this chapter, the story starts to really earn the 'M' rating.

Chapter 17

After they awoke from their nap, Tom spent the rest of the evening mercilessly drilling Harry. Harry had to practice changing forms over and over, until he could do it as quickly and as easily as Tom did. Since the process of transformation is neither simple nor easy, not even after being shown how, this took several hours, and by the end of it, Harry was starving. Perhaps it was so much time spent in his alternate form, but he also had quite the craving for meat. Luckily, Tom seemed to have anticipated this, and for their dinner that evening, Tibby the house elf presented them both with thick steaks, grilled, but only rare done. There were sides of fluffy baked potatoes and steamed vegetables, but Harry had no appetite for those.

"So, Tom, what are we doing tomorrow?" Harry asked in between mouthfuls.

Tom did not answer immediately. Instead, he studied Harry's face carefully. Harry, in the middle of chewing a bite, found this slightly awkward.

"You will recall, I believe, that I asked if I might have your assistance with…certain tasks during your time here," Tom finally answered.

Harry told himself that the gulping noise he'd just made was the result of swallowing a too-large bite. "Yes, Tom," he replied. "I remember, and I still want to help you."

This brought another period of prolonged, pensive silence. Harry finally couldn't stand it and stammered out, "Er, that is, if you still want me to..."

"I do, Harry, very much. Yet I find myself strangely reluctant to place you in any sort of danger. I cannot fathom why…" The last sentence was said softly, really more to himself than to Harry. As Tom said it, he realized that it was absolutely true. Something inside him ached painfully at the thought of any harm befalling Harry. At first, he assumed that it was simply because Harry's death was his to deliver, and he couldn't stand the thought of someone else doing it. But then, as he pictured himself raising his wand at Potter, watching the infamous green curse fly toward those beguiling green eyes, he realized that the painful feeling only became stronger.

He couldn't stand the thought of killing Harry.

Well…that just meant he'd have to keep him. Forever. Harry _belonged_ to him, and he never let anyone else touch what was his.

He wouldn't be the first Dark Lord to take a Consort.

Harry, for his part, had remained silent, knowing Tom well enough to allow him to sort out his thoughts without interruption. When he saw the small smile come over Tom's lips, a smile so infinitesimal that none but Harry would have been able to spot it, he knew that whatever inner turmoil Tom was going through had been resolved, and he put in his two knuts.

"You told me then, Tom, that you wouldn't give me anything to do that you thought would be too dangerous. I trust you. And you know what I can do. You've trained me yourself. Trust me."

Tom stared into Harry's eyes for a long time before responding. When he finally did, Harry found what he said to be worth the wait: "All right then, little serpent. Head back to your room and rest well. Tomorrow, our partnership truly begins."

After a goodnight kiss that left both of them panting for breath, Harry took Tom's advice and Portkeyed back to the hotel.

Wednesday morning arrived quickly, and Harry was soon back at Slytherin manor. Tom and breakfast were both awaiting him, although the breakfast was much lighter than usual. Harry wasn't going to comment on that, but Tom noticed his look, and explained, "One should never consume heavy foods before a mission. It slows your reaction time, and if you become nervous, your stomach will want to reject everything you have put in it." Harry nodded; that made sense to him. It was sort of like how he never ate anything but toast before a Quidditch match. Since it worked for Quidditch, Harry decided it would probably work for this, too, and only ate a few slices.

Tom began explaining their mission for the day over breakfast. "I think this will please you, my little serpent. We are attacking the home of Dolores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister."

"I'm happy about that, really, I couldn't be more thrilled, but…why her? Why not Fudge himself?"

"At the moment, Mr. Fudge is useful, and whomever took his place would likely not be so. However, he has recently been showing some stirrings of independent thought, and thus he must be reminded of the consequences of disobedience."

"In that case, why not his wife, or someone else closer to him? He won't really care about Umbridge dying."

"I do not yet wish to send him such a strongly-worded message. It carries the risk of provoking him into further action."

"So we are simply warning him that next time, it could be someone he truly cares for."

"Yes. And while any of his sycophants would have suited, I did choose her in particular because of the harm she has done to you. You belong to _me_, and I will not allow anyone to touch what is mine."

Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that. Part of him just melted inside, with a warm squishy feeling. But another part of him wanted to declare that he was a person, not a thing to be owned. The feelings of comfort and security won out, but a small shred of uncertainty remained in his mind.

Tom explained the security precautions that were in place all around the home. Harry paid careful attention, memorizing his role in the plan. It was fairly simple. The two would apparate to the home, dressed in the robes and masks of regular Death Eaters. Harry's face, of course, had to be hidden, and Tom did not yet want it to be known that Lord Voldemort had a companion, treated like an equal partner. Tom would proceed to bring down the wards while Harry covered his back. A squadron of six aurors were on permanent detail at her home. Though aurors were generally trained to incapacitate rather than kill, and forbidden from using Dark spells of any kind, Harry and Tom both agreed that these aurors were likely to have slightly different orders, given the temperament of the woman. Harry also knew for a fact that none of the aurors were his friends from the Order, and that was a relief.

Thanks to Lucius Malfoy, they had the layout of the house, along with 360-degree views of each room. As she was currently out of work on sick leave (not a coincidence—it was almost too easy to create a targeted outbreak of the flu), they guessed that she was most likely to be in her bedroom, though of course any of the rooms were possible. Once they were in, they would find her. If the aurors had been taken out quietly, and they had time, they would have a bit of fun. If alarms had been set off, they would dispose of her quickly and be on their way.

They finished the debriefing and prepared to leave. When both were ready, Tom put his arms tightly around Harry's waist. In an instant, both vanished, reappearing instantly outside the wards around the home of Dolores Umbridge.

Tom smiled to himself. The wards around the home were child's play. It wouldn't take him more than a few moments to get through. Which was fortunate, because the guards seemed alerted to their arrival, and three of them were already pulling out their wands.

Tom was worried, but he knew that he couldn't allow himself to be distracted from his task. He quickly discovered, though, that he needn't have worried. Harry was a Seeker, and he was built for speed. Before the three could finish pulling out their wands, Harry had them on the ground, two with a Dark curse that placed the victim into an irreversible coma for twelve hours, and one with three Blasting curses, directed at his wand hand and his kneecaps. Tom could feel the satisfaction oozing off of Harry, and he spared a bit of his attention to send back feelings of pride.

Then the other three guards showed up. They spotted their fallen comrades, and came out shooting Cruciatus curses. Harry sent a quick mental warning to Tom before shoving him to the ground to avoid the spells. Harry was incensed. How dare they attack _his_ Tom? For the second time in his life, he let three green curses fly from his wand. The three men fell to the ground, never to get up again. Just as the body of the last one fell, Tom finished breaking the wards. All together, it had been perhaps three minutes.

They entered the home, finding a foyer decorated with the same enamelled kitten plates that had once been displayed in the office at Hogwarts. Tom and Harry both had identical—though unseen—moues of distaste.

They moved silently together through the house, finding all of the rooms empty. Eventually, the only room left was the bathroom, and they heard the sounds of retching from outside the door.

Tom gestured for Harry to take the lead, which he did, gladly. He pushed the door open, and found the toad-like hag bowing to the porcelain god. "It's almost too easy," he said conversationally.

The woman's face slowly turned around, coming to see who had disturbed her.

She was quick, Harry would have to give her that. "Please," she gasped. "Don't kill me. I'll do whatever you want. I'm a pureblood myself, I agree with the Dark Lord, I'd be happy to serve him!"

Harry and Tom glanced at each other. "Perhaps you may be useful, at that," Tom drawled. "Yes," Harry picked up. "We have a message for your boss."

"Yes? Yes? What is it? I'll give it to him, I swear!"

"Yes," Harry said. "You will. Crucio!"

As the spell hit her, her head knocked into the edge of the toilet seat, and began bleeding. The woman twitched and writhed, in too much pain to even beg for mercy. Not that Harry would grant it. He was enjoying it too much, enjoying the sight of the blood, the sound of the screams, and the feel of approval he could sense from Tom. After a few minutes, he ended the spell. "Would you like a turn?" he offered, turning to his partner.

"I appreciate your generous offer, but no."

Harry turned back to Umbridge, who was beginning to recover, and holding a wad of tissue against her head in an attempt to stop the flow of blood. "In that case, woman, here is the message we wish you to give your boss."

"Yes?" she coughed weakly.

"He is not safe. His family is not safe. No one who associates with him is safe. If he does not do exactly as he is told, we will destroy everyone and everything he loves, and he will be begging for death before the end."

"He will know! I swear it! Tell the Dark Lord, I swear it! I'll go to see him right now!"

"That won't be necessary," Harry replied, almost sweetly. "Someone in your condition should get their rest, after all. The next time he sees you, he'll know what the message is."

And just as Dolores Umbridge realized that her death _was_ the message, green light swept over her, and she knew no more.

Harry and Tom returned to Slytherin manor, flushed with success. True, it had been an easy victory, but the vision of what their partnership could be was starting to come true. They discarded the masks they had worn at the door, knowing Tibby would pick them up. They weren't speaking; only holding hands and basking in the feelings they could feel flowing from each other. Tom led Harry up the stairs and into a room Harry had never seen before: Tom's bedroom.

Harry was surprised to find that it was decorated in shades of blue, rather than the dark green and silver he expected, but he didn't have much time to think about it. He was pushed onto the soft bed, and his lips were attacked almost violently. He returned the kiss desperately, only now realizing that one of the feelings that had been coming from Tom earlier was pure lust.

Tom's lips separated from his, and he almost groaned in protest, but the lips quickly returned to kiss his cheek, and then his ear, and then move in a trail down the side of his neck. His hands fisted Tom's hair, and he moaned at the unbelievable sensations running through his body.

Tom's lips began gently sucking on his neck, and Tom's hands began pulling at the ties on his robes. Soon, the robes were off, and he was clad only in a white undershirt and black boxers, both made of silk. Tom was staring at him, and Harry looked down, blushing.

"§You look absolutely delectable, my little serpent.§"

The sensuous hissing made Harry come completely undone. He began pulling at the ties on Tom's own robes, frantically kissing everything that fell under his mouth as he did so. Soon, they were both clad in only their under garments, and Tom's mouth was once again plundering Harry's. Silk-wrapped erections, stiff with excitement, brushed against each other, creating pleasure like Harry had never known before. Tom's hands moved under Harry's shirt, caressing the hardened nipples, while Harry's hands found their way under Tom's shorts to glide over the smooth cheeks.

Tom couldn't believe how amazing this felt. He'd taken lovers before, both men and women, and some who were quite skilled at the sensual arts. But though Harry was an untried innocent, he somehow seemed to know just what to do to bring Tom the greatest possible pleasure. It certainly didn't hurt that they could feel each other's lust, fanning the flames of their mutual desires. Tom could hardly wait to have Harry as his Consort.

Wait, dear Morgana, his Consort! If he didn't stop now, he wouldn't be able to stop, and Harry had to be 'pure' for the ritual! Just as Harry's hand began to timidly slide around Tom's waist, inching ever so slowly toward the member quivering in anticipation, Tom froze, and quickly pulled away.

Anxiety and shame poured off of Harry in waves, and Tom quickly moved to reassure him. "I'm sorry," he said, catching Harry's hands gently in his own.

Harry looked up bravely. "It's all right. I shouldn't have expected you to…well, want me."

"No, my little serpent. I _do_ want you, very much."

"Then why did you stop?"

"Because I wish to have you as my Consort."

Harry's face lit up as though Gryffindor had won the Quidditch cup, Christmas had come, and he'd received twelve NEWTS, all on the same day. "Really? You mean it?"

Tom had to remind himself that Harry was still under the influence of the potion. He wasn't certain what to do about that. The Consort ritual would bind them together for the rest of their lives, so once it was complete, Harry would be unable to leave or betray him. He supposed he might give Harry the antidote when the ritual was complete. He'd get over the trickery, right? Or maybe not. He didn't want to have to deal with a Consort acting like an angry brat throwing a tantrum, which would inevitably happen.

Harry spoke up again. "But what does that have to do with…stopping?" His face was bright red.

"The ritual requires you to be, if I may be indelicate, 'pure' at the time it is performed."

"Excuse me?" Harry looked confused.

Tom realized that he'd have to be a bit more blunt. "You have to be a virgin."

Understanding and embarrassment passed over Harry's face. "So…you mean you really were about to…go all the way?"

Tom smirked down at the younger man, leering as his eyes trailed slowly over Harry's body. "Indeed. And I believe it shall be difficult to restrain myself from doing so until your seventeenth birthday."

"Why my seventeenth birthday?"

"Because that is when you will be an adult wizard, and thus the day that you become eligible to be my Consort. And I will not wait even a day longer than I must."

Harry managed to stop blushing long enough to get in a rebuttal. "I admit I don't know much about these things, but aren't you supposed to ask me? Was that your idea of a proposal?"

"I _am_ the Dark Lord. Were you expecting me to kneel before you and beg?" Tom shot back.

"Well, no," Harry admitted.

"Besides, I already know what you would say. Why would I ask a question when I already know the answer?" He leaned in and kissed Harry on the cheek, considering the discussion over.

Tom and Harry re-dressed, and all throughout the process, Harry kept glancing at Tom in what he must have thought to be a covert manner. Tom caught him at it each time, and each time their eyes met, Harry looked away quickly.

They exited the bedroom calmly, both quite ready for a hearty supper. Both men were smiling quiet, serene smiles, and thinking of their future together.


	18. Chapter 18

I know, I know! I'm a bad, bad author! This chapter is two days late, and I haven't replied to any reviews! I'll try to catch up on my review responses later this week, but I just wanted to say thank you again to everyone who reviewed (especially the longer reviews!). Your comments are really encouraging! I've realized that I can't guarantee new chapters by Monday, but I will still do my best to get out one new chapter a week.

For all readers, just a reminder that this is a slash story with an 'M' rating.

Chapter 18

Having decided to take Harry as his Consort, Lord Voldemort decided that his soon-to-be paramour needed to be introduced to the wizarding world, preferably with as much spectacle as possible. He wasn't ready for anyone to know of Harry's identity just yet—he was too useful as a spy—but the world would soon learn that Lord Voldemort had a new partner. A raid was planned for that Friday evening. He hadn't planned on bringing Harry along, but the young man's presence at his side would certainly garner attention.

He and his Death Eaters were going to attack Auror training headquarters. It was a risky target, and the addition of Harry's power would be quite a boon. Yet it was also a mission that would not offend Harry's sensibilities, as this was intended to be a recruiting mission rather than an assault. Trained soldiers were useful, after all, and why bother going to the expense of doing his own training when he could simply steal from the other side?

So the only question remaining was how to introduce his Consort to the Death Eaters. Should there be a formal presentation before all of his troops, or should he simply tell his Inner Circle? Or perhaps it would be best not to say anything for the time being. Harry would eventually take the position of second-in-command, but was he ready to lead now?

It was currently late Thursday morning. Harry had been occupying himself with perfecting his control over his Animagus transformation, but apparently had decided that he'd had enough, as he was currently walking into Tom's study.

Tom was pleased to see that he had been right—the time spent as a panther had already begun to affect his partner. His gait was no longer an awkward shuffle, but a smooth, flowing pace. It was not yet the mixture of feline and serpentine grace that Tom himself moved with, but it would get there. Tom expressed this observation to Harry, delighting in the resulting blush.

"Should I try to hide it at school?" Harry asked about his newfound grace, showing a caution that pleased Tom.

"Hmm. I do not believe that shall be necessary. Few people are observant enough to notice such small changes as differences in carriage and fluidity of movement, and fewer still would be able to discern what, precisely, is different."

"Dumbledore is rather well known for his powers of observation, and my friend Hermione is pretty perceptive, too," Harry rebutted.

"Still, a pretence of clumsiness is extremely difficult to portray effectively. It tends to be rather obviously overdone. And, of course, it must be constantly maintained to be effective."

"Well, Hermione already knows that I was attempting to become an Animagus. It shouldn't hurt to tell her that I've done it. And Dumbledore doesn't see me all that often; only once a week. He probably won't notice, and even if he does, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't ask."

"Now that that is settled, there is a matter I wish to have your opinion about."

"What's that?"

"I am attacking Auror training headquarters on Friday evening, along with a contingent of troops. You will also accompany me, though underneath a mask. I wish it to be known that I have a Consort, but I do not wish your identity to be revealed just yet.

The matter is this: how should I present you to the Death Eaters? My thought is to introduce you to my Inner Circle as the second-in-command. The lesser troops would follow their lead in obeying you. Other options include introducing you to all of the troops together, or not introducing you at all. Your place at my side would be enough to show all of them your superiority."

"And you want my thoughts about it?" Harry replied, gratified to be asked.

"Yes." Harry assumed the terseness of the statement was due to Tom's dislike of asking anyone else for advice. Asking for advice was admitting a weakness.

"You should definitely tell your Inner Circle first. If you don't, they'll think you don't trust them with important information, and they'll be offended. Don't tell them who I am just yet, though. Let them get used to the idea of you having a Consort first. That's probably going to be enough of a shock."

Tom found this to be quite a sensible opinion, so he continued. "What of the rank-and-file soldiers?"

"They'll get the hint by the way I stand next to you. And if they don't, they're probably a little slow, and should be replaced."

"Yes, that and the way the Inner Circle obeys you should be more than enough of a hint," Tom replied dryly.

Harry made a face. "I don't think I'll be giving any orders. I'm not really much of a leader."

Tom raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, so you _aren't_ the boss of the Golden Trio? And you _didn't_ start training your first army when you were fifteen?"

"Hermione's the boss of the 'Golden Trio,'" Harry grimaced in dislike of the nickname. "And the name 'Dumbledore's Army' was just a joke, it was a study group, not an army."

"Your Mu—ggleborn" (he caught himself just in time) "friend may have a controlling personality, but every time you have found yourselves in imminent danger, you have immediately taken control. And your so-called 'study group' was studying methods of fighting, and not in a theoretical sense. I do believe that's called training an army."

"It wasn't like that!" Harry protested. "I'm not some kind of power-hungry attention seeker! When Ron, Hermione and I got into trouble, I knew what we needed to do to survive! And the students wanted me to teach them! What I taught them could save their lives! They needed me! Was I supposed to say no?" he yelled.

"Of course not," Tom replied calmly. "That is precisely why people need leaders. They need to be guided and protected by those who have the ability to do so. People are willing to submit to you precisely because they know you have that ability."

"I don't want anyone to submit to me," Harry whispered, calmer, but not placated.

"No? How would you feel if you told someone to do something, and they were killed because they refused to listen?"

That took Harry a moment to answer. "I…I guess I'd be really angry at them for not doing what I said."

Tom immediately followed that question with another. "And if their refusal to obey you caused the deaths of others?"

"I'd be furious."

"And there you have it. Like it or not, you _are_ a leader, my serpent. And as a leader, you must ensure that those under will obey you, with or without explanation."

Harry sighed. "All right, Tom. You're right. So, you're meeting with the Inner Circle first this evening, and then debriefing all the troops included on the mission tomorrow morning, right?"

"That is correct."

"So how about this: at the meeting tonight, you simply introduce me. Tomorrow morning, we give the debriefing together. That should show everyone what's going on."

"An excellent notion. Let's begin by going over the plans for the attack." The two spent the rest of the morning plotting together, and by lunch time, they had a plan that both of them were quite proud of.

The afternoon was devoted to duelling practice, partly to ensure that the two would be in perfect sync the following evening, and partly to keep Harry too busy to worry about the upcoming meeting. He could feel the nervous energy flowing from Harry's mind, but it didn't seem to be affecting his performance.

Evening came all too quickly for Harry. He knew that Tom wouldn't let anyone hurt him, but it was hard not to be nervous when he was about to be faced with a room full of people who had all either done or attempted to do personal harm to him. He didn't know how he would face Bellatrix in particular. He had forty-five minutes left before the meeting began. He had just finished taking a shower, scrubbing away all of the grime accumulated in several hours worth of hard training, and was presently in Tom's bedroom, about to get dressed. Suddenly, he realized that he was not alone.

Tom was lying on the bed, head pillowed on his hands, ruby eyes smirking down at Harry. He had discarded the loose linen trousers and shirt he had worn for training, and was now clad only in clingy silk boxer shorts. Through the shorts, Harry could easily see Tom's arousal. It made his own member spring to life in response. As Harry was wearing nothing but the towel he had wrapped around his waist after the shower, he knew Tom had to have noticed his body's response.

"Tom? Shouldn't we be getting ready for the meeting?" Harry asked, trying to maintain some control.

The ruby eyes gleamed at him as their owner smirked. "I've done my best, but you are still far too tense, Harry. I've decided to take a different approach toward relaxing you. Come here and lie down," he commanded.

Harry found his feet moving him forward, closer to the bed, even as his mouth protested. "You said we couldn't."

"I said we could not consummate our relationship. I did not say that we could not enjoy each other's bodies."

"What do you mean?" Harry replied, confused. He knew very little about sex, and probably even less about sensuality.

"Lie down. I'll show you," Tom murmured.

Harry obeyed, though he did not unwrap the towel from his waist. Tom leaned over him, and kissed him gently. Harry returned the kiss, tentatively at first, then with more vigour. Their tongues entered a now-familiar dance, and a fire started to build between them.

As the kisses became more passionate, Harry felt Tom's hands pulling the towel away from his waist. He blushed as his body was fully revealed, but was too occupied with the tongue stroking his own to really give it much thought. Then, Tom's hands began gently stroking him, and the sensation completely drove any thoughts of modesty out of his mind.

Tom's strokes became more insistent, and Harry began attacking Tom's neck with fervent kisses. His hands fisted Tom's dark hair, and his hips thrusted upwards, begging for more. He had done this to himself before, of course, but it was amazing how much better it felt when Tom did it.

Suddenly, the touching stopped. "Tom?" Harry whined, his whole body quivering with the need for release.

"§Yes, Harry?§" he hissed silkily. "§Was there something you wanted?§"

"§Touch me!§" Harry spat out frantically.

"§Like this?§" Tom answered, running one finger down the front of Harry's shaft with agonizing slowness.

"§More!§" Harry demanded.

"§Beg for it, my little serpent.§" The smirk on Tom's face pushed Harry even closer to the brink.

"§Please, Tom, please. I need you to touch me. Please, I'll do anything, just touch me, oh Merlin, I need you to touch me…§"

And then Tom's hands were on him again, stroking him quickly, and Harry screamed out his release. He lay in bed panting, recovering, for several minutes after.

"Thank you, Tom," he said, kissing the man on the forehead. "Should I…um…return the favour?" he asked shyly.

Tom muttered a Tempus charm, then shook his head. "As much as I would enjoy that, I am afraid that we do not have the time right now. So get dressed, but remember, you owe me, my little serpent. And a Slytherin always collects from his debtors."

"I'll pay you back…with interest," Harry replied, winking. Then both of them had to hurry their preparations to be ready on time. But Tom's ploy had worked. Harry was now far more relaxed about the meeting.

The meeting took place in the formal dining room, around a large oval table. Lord Voldemort was seated in a large, throne-like chair. Harry, wearing ornate black hooded robes and a black mask, was seated on his left. One by one, the members of the Inner Circle arrived. Nagini, seated across Tom's lap, was whispering the identities of each person into Harry's ear. Though they all looked at him curiously, none of them were bold enough to ask any questions. When everyone had arrived, Lord Voldemort began speaking.

"You may have noticed the man sitting at my left," he drawled. Harry was hard put to keep from snorting at the man's stating of the obvious. "I have taken him as my Consort. His identity does not concern you. You will address both of us as 'my Lord,' and you will obey him as you would me. Our word and our will are as one." Harry inclined his head slightly, as Tom had instructed him to do. "Now," Lord Voldemort continued, "the plans for the attack tomorrow are as follows…"

When the meeting was finally over, Harry felt mixed relief and triumph. The meeting had finished without any problems, and the Death Eaters present had addressed him as 'my Lord' without needing any reminders, or showing any obvious signs of disrespect. Harry did wonder if the respect would continue to be given when Tom wasn't sitting next to him with veiled threat shining from his eyes, but it was a start.

Tom and Harry had lingered at the dining room table to discuss the meeting. Tibby, the house elf who seemed to be in charge, had brought refreshments, and had also brought a clear vial filled with a shimmering silver vapour.

Tom picked up the vial. "Tibby, why did you bring this?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"Begging Master's pardon," the elf stammered quietly, "but Master told Tibby to make sure young Master received this today."

"Oh, yes. That will be all, Tibby," Tom replied, waving his hand in dismissal. The elf quickly disappeared.

"I assume you know what this is?" Tom said, holding the vial out to Harry.

"A memory," Harry answered, taking it and slipping it into a pocket inside his robe. "Presumably, the one I should give to Dumbledore, claiming that it belongs to Slughorn."

"Indeed. I will not tell you its contents, so you will not have to feign surprise."

"You'll have to teach me how to create fake memories. Dumbledore might take a look to see exactly how I got it."

"Have you already created a falsified version of events?"

"I've thought about it, but I don't have a whole story yet."

"Tell me your thoughts thus far. We'll complete the story together."

"Well, I've actually had a few different ideas. The first one is that I threatened to go to the newspapers and call him a coward who refused to aid the Boy-Who-Lived on his quest to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Slughorn lives for approval and admiration, so he'd cave if he though his name was going to be dragged through the mud."

"An admirably Slytherin plan, that seems likely to have worked. I'm sure you are aware of its flaws?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, like you said, it's a Slytherin plan. I might as well make a memory of myself using the Imperius curse. Dumbledore would never believe it of me, or if he did, he wouldn't trust me as much."

"Quite right. Your next idea?"

"I got him drunk and gave him a huge guilt trip. He gave me the memory just before he passed out, and he didn't remember it in the morning."

Tom laughed at the audacity and simplicity. "Now that sounds feasible. The important detail, of course, is how you managed to convince him to imbibe large quantities of alcohol."

Harry hadn't gotten that far, so he thought about it for a minute. "The Slug Club attended a ministry gala last month, celebrating Fudge's birthday. Gwenog Jones, one of the ex-students Slughorn is always gloating about, was there, but every time he tried to approach her, she gave him the brush off. In fact, all of his old students seemed to be avoiding him. I had no idea why, but I stood beside him, giving him a sympathetic ear, and not-so-incidentally keeping his glass full. When we all got back to Hogwarts, and the other students had returned to their dorms, I stayed and listened to his whining. Eventually, he got onto the subject of students who never fulfilled their promise. I told him there was a way he could honour their memory."

"How much of that truly happened?" Tom wondered aloud.

"Pretty much just the rejection at the party, which I guess was because our esteemed minister was never invited to be part of the Slug Club."

Tom chuckled. "Yes, I believe this 'memory' shall suffice. Now, construction of false memories is incredibly complex. It is best to work with a Pensieve, so that you may observe everything you put together. I generally begin with a base of visual information. Auditory input is the next step. Finally, details of scent, touch, and taste are needed to make the memory seem absolutely authentic."

The two men worked over the Pensieve late into the evening. When they were finished, they had a memory that, had Harry not created himself, he would have sworn it to be genuine. Harry was exhausted and preparing to return to his hotel, when he remembered something.

"I know you said not to bring anything from Hogwarts, but I have to ask you to make an exception," Harry stated.

"Whatever for?" Tom did not look pleased.

"I have something for you. It's not from me, actually, it's from Helga Hufflepuff. I don't think she'd let Dumbledore tamper with anything of hers, and anyway, no one else even knows it exists. Plus I've already done the Ubicarmen Revelio spell, and it came up negative."

Tom was still reluctant, understandably so in Harry's opinion. But a gift from one of the founders was not something to be rejected. "I believe I shall accompany you back to your room this evening. I trust you, Harry, but it is quite a risk."

Harry nodded. "I'm pretty sure it's safe, but I understand. Can we leave now? I'm really tired," Harry yawned, as if to prove the point.

"Of course, we will leave at once." Tom pulled Harry close, Harry activated the Portkey, and they arrived in the bedroom of Harry's hotel suite. Harry's travelling bag hadn't been opened since the previous Saturday, and since Hermione had packed it for him, it was still rather neat. He found the green and silver scarf with ease, and presented it to Tom.

"I borrowed it once, while I was riding the Knight bus. I figured nobody would recognize Harry Potter wearing Slytherin colours." Tom chuckled in response, and pulled out his wand to begin his own inspection.

While Tom worked, Harry was getting ready for bed. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. He hesitated for a moment in getting undressed, but then felt silly about it. Tom had already seen him in the buff, it didn't matter.

Just as Tom finished his last spell, determining that Harry had been right about the scarf's lack of tracking charms, he heard a gentle snore coming from the bed. Harry was fast asleep. A small lock of hair was swaying back and forth over his forehead in time with the rhythm of his breathing. Tom noticed that Harry was sleeping on the right side of the bed, rather than the centre. That left half of the bed wide open. Tom had to admit that he was also quite tired. And the open space next to Harry was growing more and more tempting with each passing moment.

He'd never been good at resisting temptation. Within minutes, he had his own robes pulled off and was climbing under the covers. Harry didn't wake up, but he did roll over to face Tom, cuddling against his side. Soon, both were asleep, with nearly identical smiles on their faces.


	19. Chapter 19

::Ducks to avoid thrown fruits, vegetables, and shoes::

I know, I know! It's been absolutely forever since I've updated! I am a terrible, terrible author! And I haven't responded to any reviews in a really long time!

But I do promise that I will not ever abandon this story. I might not be getting updates out as quickly as I'd like, but they will come!

Chapter 19

The next morning, Harry was the first to rise. For a moment, he drowsed contentedly, admiring the perfection of the man next to him. Said man was wearing nothing but a pair of black silk boxers, through which a morning erection was poking out. Suddenly, Harry had a magnificent idea.

Cautiously and quietly, he moved down the bed. Realizing that it would not be possible to manually remove the boxers without waking the man up, he drew his wand from the bedside table and cast a silent Evanesco. Tom twitched a bit in his sleep, and Harry held his breath. Luckily, Tom turned over onto his back and continued sleeping. Well, if that wasn't a sign to continue, Harry didn't know what was.

He crept lower and lower on Tom's body, and slowly reached his destination. He was fairly nervous about what he was about to do. Nobody had ever done it to him. He'd never even seen it done. What if he did something wrong? But lying there, staring at the proud shaft, Harry's desire overwhelmed his fear. He opened his mouth, and gently took in the tip of Tom's cock. It twitched in response, almost like it was alive, and Harry gasped and let go.

Okay, he should have known that would happen. Attempt number two. This time, Harry tried a different tactic. He tentatively reached his tongue out, and licked like he was eating an ice cream cone. He did it again. And again. Soon, his tongue was moving rapidly along the shaft, and Harry lost himself in the process of discovering exactly how Tom's body responded to each little swipe.

And then he glanced up, and saw red eyes looking down at him.

Harry's first reaction was to freeze. All his doubts came rushing back to him. What if he was doing something wrong? What if Tom didn't like it? What if he had hurt Tom? And then he saw the look in those red eyes. The eyes that shone down at him were overflowing with lust and desire. Harry knew in that moment that he must be doing something right.

He'd thought it would be embarrassing for Tom to watch him while he did this, but actually, it was just arousing. He kept his eyes linked with Tom's as he licked and sucked, enjoying the reactions he could see there. He could feel Tom's emotions through their link, and the combined force of their lust was driving him crazy. Without knowing just why, he reached a hand up to stroke Tom's nipple. Within seconds, Tom was pushed over the edge.

"Good morning to you, too," Tom quipped when he could finally speak again.

Harry smiled. "So, when exactly did you wake up?" he asked.

"Just after your little Vanishing spell."

"And you didn't let me know you were awake?"

"It seemed like you had plans, and that those plans would involve great benefit to myself. Why would I have revealed information that could have disrupted those plans?"

"Slytherin," Harry chuckled, throwing a pillow at Tom.

The pillow was hit by a Banishing charm, and bounced back to hit Harry in the face. "Indubitably," Tom replied. "Now get dressed—as pleasant as that was, we have other plans for this day."

HPLVHPLVHPLVHPLVHPLVHPLVHPLVHPLVHPLVHPLVHPLVHPLVHPLV

Tom and Harry, or rather, Lord Voldemort and his Consort, entered the meeting hall fifteen minutes late, though of course no one would comment on that. Instead, the members of the Inner Circle greeted them with bows and curtsies, and a few quiet "Good morning, my Lords," were offered. Though none were crazy enough to speak out, an undercurrent of disquiet went through the Death Eaters who were not so privileged as to be part of the Inner Circle. It was obvious that they were wondering who the masked man at their Lord's side was, and why he was being given the same deference as their Lord. It was absolutely unprecedented.

Lord Voldemort expected the unease, however, he was not about to explain himself. Instead, as the two had planned, he allowed Harry to give the first command of the morning. "Good morning, gentlemen, ladies," Harry's voice arrogantly drawled. "You may resume your seats." The members of the Inner Circle did so, and the rest tensed. No one sat without the permission of Lord Voldemort. A man had been killed for that mistake.

But three seconds later, when no one had been killed, or even punished, for obeying the mysterious new figure, the quickest of the Outer Circle soldiers also sat down, and tugged the sleeves of their fellows to get them to do the same. "Tonight, at 5:30 pm, we will apparate to a set of coordinates located just outside of Auror Training Headquarters," Harry began. "We will remain just outside of the proximity wards, as well as under Disillusionment charms. From there, we will surround the camp, destroy their wards, and establish our own anti-apparation wards to prevent escape."

Harry pulled out his wand and muttered a spell to project an image of the headquarters site. Lord Voldemort picked up the briefing. "Once the safeguards have been established, teams Alpha and Beta, led by Alecto and Amycus, will maintain the perimeter guard. Their duty will be to prevent escape on foot, and to watch for any additional aid that may be summoned. Teams Gamma and Delta, led by Lucius and Rodolphus, will approach entrance number one." As he spoke, Harry caused the map to zoom in on the mentioned entrance, and the words 'entrance number one' to appear over it. "As you can see," Voldemort gestured to the map, "this is the north most entrance. It is also the main gate, and as such, will be the most heavily guarded."

He continued laying out the initial plan of attack, and Harry continued to manipulate the map to show whatever part was being discussed at the moment. After the attack plan was completely explained, Harry spoke again.

"The purpose of this mission is recruitment, not annihilation, so once you are within the compound, slay only the officers. Do not kill the recruits. Take their wands, bind them, and stun them. Some of them are trained in the use of weapons other than wands, so be certain to remove all weapons from their possession. Do not snap the wands that you take. If any of those taken prisoner escape, the person responsible will be severely punished."

The briefing concluded at noon, and lunch was served. Tom spent the afternoon tutoring Harry in ward breaking. Harry had studied it on his own during his private study sessions, but had never had any opportunity to try practical application. The wards at the base were extremely powerful, but somewhat crude. However, they were also exceptionally sensitive. Any attempt to so much as look at them would set them off, if one wasn't extremely careful. So it would be Tom's task to keep them silent while Harry broke them completely.

The appointed hour arrived, and the troops were assembled. As Harry went to put on his mask, Tom pulled him close. "For luck," he murmured, before pulling Harry into a long, passionate kiss.

"Mmph. With that kind of luck, there's no way we can lose," Harry replied. He gave Tom one last quick peck on the cheek before donning the mask. The two joined the assembled troops, checked in with the leaders one last time, and gave the order to depart.

Tom and Harry's work began the instant they arrived. Tom gently and delicately slipped into the ward system, focused on keeping it silent. Harry pulled out his wand and began the arduous task of breaking each individual ward.

Tom knew that he wouldn't have been able to accomplish this alone, and he didn't think there was any other pair of wizards who could have done it. His task required an enormous amount of skill and an incredibly deft touch, while Harry's needed vast amounts of sheer power and will. His magic easily worked in concert with Harry's, better than any other two wizards' magic he had ever seen. He could only imagine how it would be after the Ritual, when his magic and Harry's were literally the same.

Suddenly, there was a loud _crack_! For a moment, Tom thought someone had gotten through the anti-apparation wards put in place by his followers. But then he realized that he—and Harry—had done it. The wards were down.

Quickly, he cast a spell to cause each Death Eater's Mark to flare. That was the signal to attack. Almost immediately, they heard the sounds of battle. Spells were shouted, people screamed in pain and fear, leaders yelled out orders.

They would not enter this fray unless they were needed, which was unlikely. There were one hundred recruits and ten officers in the camp, and two hundred Death Eaters were attacking. Voldemort's forces had the advantage of surprise, and his troops were far more experienced. The auror recruits had been in training for six months, but most of them had never seen any actual combat.

After half an hour, the fighting was over. They entered the compound through the main gate, and found everything in order. Almost.

Bellatrix was still torturing one of the officers with the Cruciatus curse, cackling madly. "Whassa matter? Does the poor liddle Auror not like the way I play?" she cooed in her monstrous baby voice.

Rage flared up in Harry. "That's enough, Bellatrix. Just kill him," he ordered.

She flung her head over to glare at him, but did not release the curse. "I'll stop when _my Lord_ orders me to," she spat out.

Harry had been hoping she would be the one to defy him. He'd known he would have to prove his worth to the Inner Circle, and she had just offered him a golden opportunity to do so.

He decided to start with the classics. "Crucio," he cast calmly, but surely. The jet of red light hit her directly in the chest. She was obviously in physical agony from the spell, but just as obviously mentally tortured by the fact that Lord Voldemort did nothing to defend her. Without relinquishing the torture spell, he sent a merciful jet of green light at the auror.

He allowed her to be tortured for a few more minutes before letting off, and then only because he knew Tom still had some affection for her and would not want her permanently harmed. "Stand up," he ordered.

She did so, slowly and grudgingly.

"Imperatus Gnyx," Harry intoned. The spell hit Bellatrix. She screamed, and fell right back to her knees.

"Stand up," Harry ordered again.

She attempted to obey, but every time she put her foot down, it slipped out from under her. Every time she tried to rise, she fell back over. Harry watched as her attempts became more and more desperate, and she grew more and more frustrated.

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked, sounding almost concerned.

"I cannot stand," she hissed out.

"Crucio," Harry inflicted the torture curse again. After thirty seconds, he lifted it. "Now, what did you wish to say to me?"

By this point, her clothes were torn, she was covered in mud from rolling on the ground, and her muscles were twitching with the after effects of the torture curse. Tear tracks lined her face, and one of her lips was bleeding.

"I cannot stand, my Lord," she whispered.

"That is correct. I am your Lord. You are beneath me. You are so far beneath me that you are not allowed to stand in my presence. You will always kneel before me. If I walk away, you will crawl after me. If, someday, you learn your place, I may allow you to stand again."

"Yes, my Lord," she whispered again, but this time, there was no hint of disobedience. New respect also shone from the faces of the other Death Eaters, especially as Harry walked away, and Bellatrix was forced to crawl through the mud after him.

Tom, who had been standing to the side throughout the incident, fell into step beside Harry. They walked into the dining hall, where all of the captured auror trainees had been brought. Out of the one hundred trainees, only five had been killed or permanently incapacitated during the raid, which was excellent, all things considered. He would still find the people who were responsible for those five, and punish them severely, but inwardly, he was pleased.

Tom was about to begin his speech to the fallen, and had expected that Harry would stand by his side, but was surprised to find his partner was nowhere in sight. He knew through their link that Harry was still quite close by, probably in the same room, but where had Harry gone? He sent a questioning thought across their link, and immediately got back reassurance. Suddenly, a thumb pointed upwards appeared in the middle of the empty space he had been staring into. It disappeared almost instantly, but it was enough. Harry was in the back of the room, behind all of the prisoners, and under a powerful Disillusionment Charm. He relaxed and began.

"Soldiers of the Ministry, you have been defeated. Your leaders have been slain, your wands have been taken, you are bound, and you are entirely at my mercy." As he was speaking, he saw a bright orange light emerge from the place where he knew Harry was standing. The light gently touched each of the prisoners, though he knew that they neither saw nor felt it. Fairly certain he knew what Harry was up to, he continued his speech, particularly emphasizing the hopelessness of the prisoners' situation. He recalled how easily their leaders had been killed and how quickly they had been defeated. He spoke of the Ministry, confused and in chaos. He reminded them of the Minister, who had been too caught up in his own pride to listen to Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, and failed to prepare the wizarding world for battle. He also recalled how Albus Dumbledore was an old man, and growing older each day. His power was waning, so much that he had even been forcibly expelled from Hogwarts just the previous year! And Potter—he sent a brief feeling of apology to his partner—Potter was a mere schoolboy, completely unprepared to face off against a Dark Lord.

The speech had its intended effect, and then some. Most of the prisoners were crying. Those that were not had an expression of complete and utter apathy, as though even crying was too much wasted effort. One shouted, "Please, just kill us now!"

That gave him the perfect opening to switch gears. "No, my friend," he said gently, knowing Harry would pick up the shift. "I do not wish to do such a thing. You see, I do not wish to destroy the wizarding world. I wish to preserve it. And I can be kind and merciful to those who will help me in this task." This time, the light that touched each prisoner was bright blue. He wondered about that. He'd been expecting Harry to simply lift his previous spell, not cast a new one. But as he continued speaking, it was obvious that Harry's spell was having an effect. The tears all stopped, as did the blank, apathetic looks. A few faces even broke into smiles. As he watched this in amazement, he finished his speech. Then he paused for a moment. "Who will join me?" he yelled, lifting his wand dramatically.

"I will!" cried a female near the front. "So will I!" yelled another. Soon, there was a clamour of people wanting to enter Lord Voldemort's service.

In the end, only ten of the ninety-five remaining auror recruits chose not to join. They were taken outside and killed quickly and quietly. The other eighty-five went home with various other Death Eaters, to prepare for their initiation in a week or two.

Harry and Tom returned to Slytherin manor, where Tom threw off Harry's mask and pulled him into a celebratory kiss.

"You, my little serpent, were brilliant today," he complimented, enjoying the resulting red stain on Harry's cheeks.

"I'm just glad it went so well. And I'm amazed we didn't lose anyone," Harry tried to shift the subject.

Tom was not having it. "I'm terribly impressed with the way you handled Bellatrix. I don't believe you shall have any further trouble with any of the Inner Circle, except perhaps when they learn your true identity. And I noticed your use of the Sansperare spell, with impressive effect. But what was that last spell you used?"

Harry smiled wryly. "One of the positive sides of growing up with the Light side, I guess. That was Plusperare, the hope-giving spell. I learned it in third year, along with the Patronus."

Tom looked deep into Harry's eyes. "I could not have accomplished this without you, Harry." Harry knew that admitting such a thing was not something that Tom did easily, and so he tried to put all of his gratitude into the deep, passionate kiss they shared.

They retreated to the study for a snack, as neither had eaten a very large lunch, and they had skipped dinner all together. "I don't want to go back to Hogwarts," Harry moaned plaintively.

"Now, now, Harry, magical education is important to a young wizard. Your studies should be your first priority," Tom replied mockingly.

"Well, since I've already learned all of the sixth year material, and most of the seventh, what should I _really_ be studying?"

"Have you finished eating?" Tom asked.

Harry blinked. "Er, yes."

"Excellent." Tom clapped his hands, and Tibby appeared to clear away the dishes. "Let's go to the library. I will select some additional material to keep your attention where it should be."

Harry hadn't taken much notice of the library before, but entering it now, he found that it looked almost exactly like the one in the Chamber of Secrets. The rooms were roughly the same size, had the same furnishings, and the number and layout of the bookshelves was the same. Harry glanced at the Parselmagic shelf, wondering if the books were also the same, and noticed something odd. The books seemed to be in exactly the same position that they were in the Chamber library, right down to which way they were leaning. And the one that he was currently reading was missing from its place. Suddenly, Harry made a connection.

"They're actually the same library, aren't they?" he asked Tom.

"Very good, Harry. Yes, Slytherin wanted his books available to his descendents at Hogwarts, but he didn't want to be without them at home. Most of these books have spells to prevent the making of copies, whether by magical or muggle means, so he was unable to simply create two copies of each book. So, using extremely complex magic, he linked the two places. Library books are accessible from either location."

"And that's how you knew when I took books out of the Chamber library."

"Precisely."

"Mystery solved." Harry laughed.

Tom pointed to two books on the third bookshelf from the left. "When you return to Hogwarts, I suggest you study those. They have excellent information on ritual and runic magic, and will help you prepare for the Consort ritual."

An accidental yawn burst out of Harry's mouth.

"I suppose you wish to return to your room," Tom commented.

"It _has_ been a long day," Harry agreed reluctantly. "And I'm meeting Hermione for breakfast at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, just before we take the train back to Hogwarts, so I can't really come back in the morning."

"I see," Tom said quietly.

"I could—I mean, could I...er...spend the night with you?"

Tom would never, not even under extreme torture, admit how pleased he was at that moment. "It will have to be in your room," he answered, sounding nonchalant.

"Why is that?"

"You will recall Salazar Slytherin's legendary paranoia. The wards on the house prevent overnight guests. The only people who may stay in the house are the Lord of Slytherin and his magically bound spouse. Any others will find themselves ejected from the house the instant the Lord falls asleep."

"He figured at least if your spouse kills you, they can't get away with it?"

Just when Harry seemed overly impressive, he would say something like this, and Tom would be reminded of just how ignorant Harry could be of the magical world. He sighed, "Magically bound spouses are unable to kill each other, Harry."

"Oh," Harry commented, not really knowing what else to say. "Well, shall we go then?"

Harry and Tom portkeyed back to the hotel. Though they were both quite tired, they knew it was their last night together until the summer holidays, and so they remained awake long into the night, talking, kissing, and gently exploring one another's bodies. When they finally fell asleep, they were curled up together, Harry spooned against Tom's chest.

Harry's alarm woke them up at seven the next morning. As Harry was taking muggle transportation to the restaurant, he needed to leave almost immediately.

"Goodbye for now, my little serpent," Tom murmured into Harry's ear.

"Goodbye, Tom" Harry whispered. "I'll speak to you this evening."

With one last kiss, the two separated, and Harry began the trip back to Hermione, Hogwarts, and life as the Gryffindor Golden Boy.


	20. Chapter 20

Oh, dear. It's been far, far longer than I intended for this new chapter to get out. All I can say is, I repeat my promise not to abandon, and thank you very much to all of you who are still reading and reviewed the last chapter!

Chapter 20

Stepping off the Knight Bus, Harry was relieved to see that it was only 8:15. He had some errands he wanted to run before meeting up with Hermione. The Magical Menagerie was the first place on his list. He hadn't forgotten his promise to himself that he would replace Neville's pet toad Trevor, after all.

When Harry arrived at the store, the clerk was just unlocking the door and flipping the sign in the window to the 'open' side. Harry stepped in, bidding the young woman a good morning. Since his scar was well covered by his hair, and he wasn't wearing his glasses anymore, she didn't recognize him, and for once Harry got to have the experience of being treated like a normal person as he shopped. The muggle stores in Little Whinging had treated him like a criminal who might rob the store blind, thanks to the Dursleys, while wizarding stores treated him like a celebrity, and it was rather nice to have neither of those scenarios occur.

"Can I help you?" the young woman asked solicitously.

"Well," Harry began, "my friend's birthday is coming up, and since he recently lost his pet toad, I thought he might like another pet."

"Oh, what a nice thing to do!" she cooed at him. "Do you know what sort of pet he'd like?"

Harry had originally thought he'd get Neville a Kneazle kitten. But he'd quickly thought the better of that idea. He had no idea if Neville even like cats, heck, for all he knew, the boy could be allergic to them. Plus, choosing a pet was a very personal decision, the kind that a person really needed to make for himself. Once he'd thought it over, he'd quickly realized that giving his friend a pet would actually be extremely inconsiderate. But he'd thought of another way he might be able to follow through on his idea.

"I actually have no idea," Harry admitted to the salesgirl. "I was thinking he might like a Kneazle kitten, but I thought he should be able to choose for himself. Do you have gift certificates or anything like that?"

She smiled, and replied, "Of course we do, and we usually recommend them for people who want to give a pet as a gift."

"Great!" Harry smiled back. "How do they work?"

"There are three levels. The first and least expensive allows the recipient to pick out their choice of any rat, toad, or rabbit. The second gives them their choice of any cat, dog, or snake. The third gives them a choice of any owl, Kneazle, or Krup."

"How much is the third, please?"

"Five galleons."

"And can they be used at your Hogsmeade location?"

"Of course."

"Excellent, I'll take one of the third level, please." Harry pulled out his wallet and counted up the requested amount as the clerk recorded the sale.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked.

"No...oh wait, yes!" Harry answered. "I've got one more gift to buy today. Do you know where I might find a shop that sells perfume?"

She thought about it for a moment. "There's a cosmetics store about one block down the road. Do you know that new joke shop? It's a big bright purple building...I can never remember what it's called...Willy's Wizard Wonka, or something like that, but you can't miss it. Anyway, the cosmetic store is called Witches Bag O'Tricks, and it's just behind the joke shop."

Harry smiled at that interpretation of the name of his friends' shop. "Thanks very much for your help," he said as he left the store.

It didn't take him long to find the cosmetic shop and purchase the perfume for Hermione, which was good, because he only had about five minutes before he needed to meet said witch for breakfast. He pulled his glasses out of his bag (the lenses were now clear, thanks to a clever spell of Tom's) and hurried for the pub. At 9:00 on the dot, Harry burst through the door of the Leaky Cauldron, panting slightly, as he'd needed to run to make it on time. Hermione was already there waiting for him, and she smiled as she saw her friend.

"Harry!" she squealed, as he walked over to her table. "I went ahead and ordered already, I hope you don't mind, but we are cutting it a bit close, and I didn't want to miss the train."

The train didn't leave until 11:00, but it was just like Hermione to insist on being there at least an hour early. "That's fine, Hermione," he replied. His best friend had been eating breakfast with him every morning for 5 years now, she knew what he liked.

"So how was your week?" Hermione asked, eyes gleaming.

"Well, without going into any of the sordid details, things are a little more official between us now," Harry answered.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so happy for you! I'm thrilled that you've found someone who can make you smile like that." She paused, as if uncertain whether she should continue.

Knowing his friend's curiosity was battling fiercely with her sense of politeness, Harry chuckled. "Whatever you want to ask, go ahead already. I might not answer, but I promise not to get mad."

"Can I meet him?" Hermione blurted out hopefully.

Harry had no idea how to respond to this question. He felt a wave of panic coming over him. Surely he was about to get caught. Hermione would realize there was something wrong, she would figure it out, and then she would go to Dumbledore, and he would never be allowed to see Tom again. Nor would Hermione ever speak to him again. Plus he'd probably be kicked out of Hogwarts, or maybe even sent to Azkaban.

Just as he thought he might start hyperventilating, the Gryffindor scarf around his neck started to grow faintly warm, and he felt a surge of calm wash over him.

Taking a deep breath, an answer came to him. "Er...I don't know if that's really such a good idea."

Hermione looked hurt. "Why not?" she replied, her voice carefully neutral.

"I don't want to put him in any danger. You're the only one who even knows I _have_ a boyfriend, and I'd like it to stay that way. If word gets out that he's associated with me, it could be extremely dangerous for him. I know you'd never purposefully tell anyone about him, but we both know there are ways to get information out of unwilling people."

There, a reasonable explanation, and he hadn't even actually lied!

Hermione's eyes watered, and for a moment, Harry was afraid that he'd just made things worse. He was trying to find other words to explain the situation when he heard her say, "I understand, Harry. It's just so unfair that your life has to be like this. I'd give anything to have things be different for you."

Crying girls were still something on Harry's list of 'things I'd rather face another Hungarian Horntail than deal with,' but he had to try. He patted her arm awkwardly, and said, "Thanks, Hermione. It means a lot to me that you care." Following up on a sudden suspicion of his, he took the corners of his scarf and wiped her eyes. Sure enough, the tears stopped almost immediately, and his friend's face seemed to relax.

As convenient and useful as that feature was, it hadn't been listed in the description of the charms included on the scarf. Harry was going to have to have a talk with Helga.(1)

The two friends finished breakfast without further incident, got to the train station with 45 minutes to spare (which still made Hermione a bit nervous), and rode back to school. Both of them got out books to read, and Harry was relieved that he wouldn't have to continue to make conversation. He'd just realized that there was a very real possibility that once his relationship with Tom got out, his friends would abandon him.

Could he make them understand what Tom meant to him? If he, Harry, who'd suffered far more harm at the hands of Lord Voldemort than any of his friends, could not only forgive the man, but fall in love with him, wasn't it possible that some of his friends could at least understand Harry's position?

These thoughts kept him occupied for most of the rest of the train ride. When the Head Boy stopped in to announce their imminent arrival at Hogwarts, Harry shifted his thoughts back to Hogwarts, and all of the things that awaited him at the castle.

HP/LV*HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV*HP/LV*HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV* HP/LV*

The first thing he needed to do was to meet with Dumbledore. The ministry gala had taken place a week before the spring holiday, so it would already be slightly suspicious that Harry had waited so long to bring in the memory. Immediately upon arriving at the castle, Harry went to the professor's office with the little bottle Tom had given him.

"Good afternoon, Harry," the old man began, looking quite grave. Harry wondered what the reason could be for the look.

"Good afternoon, sir," Harry replied. "Professor, I've got the—"

"There is something I need to tell you," Dumbledore interrupted.

Harry was taken aback. He'd never heard Dumbledore interrupt anyone before. "What is it, sir?"

"The Dursleys are missing." The look on Dumbledore's face was sympathetic, not accusatory, and his tone was gentle, not cold, so Harry assumed that he was not under any suspicion.

"I see," he responded. He paused for a moment. "When did they go missing? Do you think they're still alive?" he asked calmly. He didn't think he needed to appear overly concerned. It would be an obvious act. As long as he didn't appear to be happy, slightly callous seemed all right.

Dumbledore sighed. "I undertook to interview the neighbours, and the Wednesday before the spring holidays began was the last time they were seen at home."

"Are you sure something happened to them? They didn't just go on a long holiday or something?"

"If they did, they did not inform any of their acquaintances, nor Vernon's work. Mr. Dursley's boss was quite unhappy to have one of his employees fail to show up without giving any sort of notice. No, Harry, I believe we can be fairly certain that foul play was involved."

"Oh. So...if Voldemort was keeping them alive to use as hostages to lure me into a trap, I'd probably have heard from him by now. And he knows me better than that, anyway."

Dumbledore did not give a verbal response. He simply nodded sadly.

"All right, then. Should we continue with our meeting now?"

"Harry, my boy, you've just had a terrible shock. Surely you'd like to take the afternoon off?"

"No, sir. I...I don't mean to be rude, and I won't speak ill of the dead, but..." (Harry made his voice tremble just a bit) "I can't be truly sorry they're gone. I lost the last of my family fifteen years ago. All I can be sorry for is the people they could have been, and I finished mourning for that a long time ago. Now, I've got something important to give you."

Harry was fairly certain that Dumbledore would drop the issue of the Dursleys once he saw the memory vial, and he was not proven wrong.

"You got it!" the old man exclaimed.

"Yes, sir."

Dumbledore did not even ask how Harry had obtained the memory, which was probably just as well, but still left him feeling a bit miffed over all the work he'd put into it the story for nothing. He just pulled the Pensieve out of its cabinet.

"Now, my boy, we will see the truth..." The memory was poured out into the silvery basin, and Harry and the Headmaster entered together.

The memory began the same way that it had in the first version. Everything remained the same until Slughorn commented on Tom's future. Rather than denounce the boy, as the rotund professor had done in the apocryphal memory, Slughorn proclaimed that he would become Minister of Magic within twenty years. Then the memory continued as it had before, until Tom got to the pertinent question.

"Sir, I wondered what you know about...about Horcruxes?"

Rather than immediately denying any knowledge of the topic, Slughorn stared at Tom, his thick fingers absentmindedly caressing the stem of his wine glass.

"Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?"

But Harry could tell that Slughorn knew perfectly well that this was not schoolwork.

"Not exactly, sir," said Tom. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."

Tom wheedled more information out of Slughorn, and Harry was once again forcibly impressed by Tom's abilities at manipulation. Slughorn explained what a Horcrux was, and the basics of how it was created. Harry already knew this information, and he knew that Dumbledore did, too, so this obviously wasn't why this particular memory had been needed. What could Dumbledore have been looking for? He got his answer quickly enough. Dumbledore wanted to know how many Horcruxes there were. Tom asked Slughorn about the number of Horcruxes it would be possible to make.

"What I don't understand, though—just out of curiosity—I mean, would it be possible to make more than one Horcrux? Can you only split your soul once? Seven is the most powerfully magical number, well, for Light Wizards anyway. But obviously only a Dark Wizard would do this, and six is the most powerful number in Dark Magic. But splitting your soul that many times would probably destabilize your mind and your magic. You'd risk going insane. Perhaps three, then, it's also a strong number—"

"Merlin's beard, Tom!" yelped Slughorn. "Horcruxes are evil, don't you understand that? Bad enough to even think of creating one, but debating how many pieces to rip the soul into?"

The memory played on, and Slughorn tried to reassure himself that Tom was only asking out of pure intellectual curiosity. He would intentionally deceive himself rather than believe that he had just given such terrible information to a man who would make use of it.

As they left the memory, Dumbledore looked troubled. "I had hoped that this memory would confirm a suspicion of mine. I had long suspected that Tom had created seven Horcruxes, and I thought this memory would prove me right...instead it reveals one other possibility."

Although Harry knew perfectly well why three Horcruxes was immediately discounted as a possibility, he didn't think he was supposed to know, so he asked. "Don't you mean two other possibilities, sir?"

"No. I have already discovered three objects that I knew to be Horcruxes, and there are still several more objects that I strongly suspect."

"The diary was one, wasn't it, sir?"

"Yes. When you handed me that diary, and described what had happened, what you described to me was a phenomenon I had never witnessed. A mere memory starting to act and think for itself? A mere memory, sapping the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen? No, something much more sinister had lived inside that book...a fragment of soul, I was almost sure of it. But this raised as many questions as it had answered. I did not believe that, had the diary been Lord Voldemort's only Horcrux, he would have treated it in such a cavalier manner. No, I knew there had to be others. Then you yourself confirmed it for me, two years later, on the night Voldemort returned to a corporeal form. You told me of a most illuminating and alarming statement Voldemort made to his Death Eaters: '_I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.'_ Further than anybody—though his Death Eaters did not understand what he meant, I did."(2)

"So...what do we do now? If we assume there are seven, we could spend forever searching for one that doesn't exist. But if we assume there are six, we could destroy him only to have him return once again."

"I do not know, Harry. I shall have to think on this." He continued softly, as though to himself, "I was so certain this memory would have the answer..." Then he cleared his throat. "Nevertheless, well done, Harry, well done indeed. I knew you could do it. Now, sleep well, and I shall see you Thursday evening for your Occlumency lesson."

Harry left the office quickly. He headed up toward Gryffindor tower, just in case he was being watched. Once he'd gotten past the Fat Lady, however, he Disillusioned himself, pulled on his Cloak to be extra careful, and whispered, "§enter.§" He had a basilisk egg to check up on, after all.

When he arrived, Salazar had obviously been waiting for him. "Good evening, lion cub," the spirit greeted him.

"Hey Salazar," Harry answered. "So?"

"So what?" Salazar replied teasingly.

"The egg, of course. How is it doing?"

"I believe you pointed out before that there a hatching egg actually holds very little interest. It's still sitting there, though you are perfectly free to go have a look."

Harry did as the man suggested, and approached the cage where he'd left the toad and the egg. As he approached, he felt a small tingle in the air, which seemed to get stronger as he got nearer. When he got up close, the egg seemed to be ever so slightly glowing.

"Merlin!" Harry exclaimed. "That definitely didn't happen last time."

"Really?" Salazar asked drily. "Whatever do you mean?"

"The egg…it's almost humming with magic," Harry answered.

"Oh, good! I wasn't certain if you were sensitive to magical currents or not. Yes, lion cub, this time, it seems that our experiment will be successful."

"Well, let's not count our basilisks before they're hatched," Harry quipped. "How long has it been doing that?"

"It started the day after you left, actually, though it was very faint. Since then, it's grown stronger every day."

Harry smiled. "I think it's going to work this time."

Salazar smiled back. "So do I, Harry. Now, how was your vacation?"

"It was great! I had a wonderful time with Hermione and her family. They showed me around muggle London. Hey, did you know that Buckingham Palace has 78 bathrooms?"

"Yes, yes, that's lovely Harry, but you know perfectly well that's not what I meant."

"Oh! You meant the week I spent with Tom, right?" Harry smirked.

"If you don't get to the point soon, I will let this basilisk bite you when it hatches."

"All right, all right. Well, I'd say we accomplished quite a bit. For example…" Harry shifted into his panther form and pranced about for a bit.

Salazar's jaw dropped. "You two share animagus forms?"

Harry shifted back. "Yes, it would seem so. But hey, I learned how to do it. Aren't you proud of me?"

"Exceedingly so, lion cub. Or panther cub, I suppose I should say."

Harry scoffed. "Seeing as I'm _not_ a cub of any sort, you could just call me Harry."

"No, you're definitely more furry than hairy," Salazar retorted.

"Did you want to hear about the rest of the week or not? After all, I'm sure Helga's waiting to hear about it, too, and I could always talk to her first…"

"You wouldn't," Salazar glared.

"Try me." Harry started to pull on his cloak as if to leave.

"Okay, _Harry_, you win for now. So tell me about the rest of the week."

"Well, for starters, Tom got me a little gift in honour of the visit."

"Which was?"

"My so-called family, the ones that Dumbledore left me with for all these years. Thanks, by the way."

"You're welcome. What am I being thanked for?"

"Helping me learn the Unforgiveables. The Dursleys were going to be used as teaching tools, and Tom was really impressed by the fact that I could already do all three curses."

Harry described the rest of his week to Salazar, including the assassination of Dolores Umbridge, how Tom had helped him transform to his panther shape, and the raid on Auror training headquarters. When he had finished, Salazar looked at him thoughtfully.

"So Tom has decided to take you as his Consort," the spirit remarked.

"Yes," Harry beamed. "Why, don't you think it's a good idea?"

"My dear Harry, it's precisely what I hoped would happen. I couldn't imagine anyone better for either of you. When will it happen?"

"Tom didn't say for sure, but he implied that it would be either on or right after my 17th birthday."

"Did he explain the ritual, or what it will mean?" Salazar wanted this to happen, and he didn't even mind Harry committing to it under the influence of the love potion, but he did want to be sure that the boy knew exactly what he was getting himself into.

"Er…no, not really. We didn't really have a lot of time. But he did point out two books in the library here that he said would explain it."

"No patience, that one. Well, then, why don't you go ahead and take those two books, then go to bed? You've had a long day, and I'm sure Tom is anxious to speak with you."

Harry yawned. "I'd like to, and I hate to keep Tom waiting, but I still need to speak to Helga."

"Tomorrow, Harry. I'll speak to her tonight and let her know that she'll see you tomorrow."

"All right," Harry agreed reluctantly. "But don't tell her about the Consort part yet. I want to tell her myself."

"You have my word," Salazar promised. Harry Disillusioned himself, put on his cloak, and headed back to Gryffindor tower and his bed.

1. Actually, Helga _did_ tell him...sort of. Cookies if you can figure it out! Double cookies if you know what Helga's gift is (though I think it's pretty obvious by now...)

2. I have obviously heavily borrowed from, though not exactly copied, HBP, US Hardcover edition, pages 495-501.

Reviewing this story is like supporting funding for music and the arts in elementary school--it encourages future creativity. *The More You Know*


	21. Chapter 21

I'm back! I'm very sorry about the long wait for this chapter, but I should be getting back to more regular updates now.

Major Cookies to:

1. tonks*is*cool for pointing out a mistake in the last chapter (it has been fixed!)

2. bkwyrm16 and Sakamoto Itoe for figuring out Helga's gift!

3. lennox03237 for figuring out how Helga told Harry about the scarf! (It shall be revealed in this chapter, if you missed it)

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed!

Chapter 21

The following morning, Harry remembered that he had delivered his 'present' to Dumbledore, but he had not yet given Hermione and Neville their gifts. Recalling the way Lavender and Parvati were always telling Hermione that she needed to worry less about studying and more about finding a man (they'd even left a copy of _Witch Weekly_ open to an article titled "Why Wizards Won't Date Smart Witches" on her pillow), Harry had a mischievous thought. He pulled out the perfume bottle, which he'd had gift wrapped by the shop girl, and Conjured some flowers to go with it. Then he got out a nice piece of parchment and wrote a quick note:

_Dear Hermione,_

_First, this letter is charmed so that only you can actually read it. To anyone else, it looks like a gushy love note from 'a secret admirer.' I thought it might help get those two harpies you call roommates off your back, for a while at least._

_Second, please accept this small token of my appreciation for inviting me to your house for break. I had a fantastic time--in fact, I can quite honestly say that it was the best holiday I've ever had, and it was all thanks to you._

Well, that wasn't completely true--quite a bit of it was thanks to Tom. But if Hermione hadn't been willing to cover for him, Harry wouldn't have been able to see Tom, so it wasn't completely false, either.

_Should you decide that there is someone you're interested in, after all, let me know. I'll help you get him--after I threaten to hex his balls off (like any good brother would)._

_I hope you like your gift!_

_Love,_

_Harry_

Finishing the note, he proceeded to call Dobby and instruct him to leave it on Hermione's pillow. That done, he got out of bed, only to find everyone but Neville still asleep. Which gave him another perfect opportunity.

"Hey Nev, can I talk to you for a sec?" Harry said quietly, not wanting to wake the other boys.

"Sure, Harry, what is it?"

"I...I wanted to say again how sorry I am that you lost Trevor. I feel like if I had just moved a little faster, maybe I could have..."

Neville cut him off. "It wasn't your fault, Harry. There wasn't anything else you could've done. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine, for not keeping track of my own pet. Which, to be perfectly honest, I did on purpose...I couldn't exactly tell Uncle Algie 'no thanks,' but, well, I never actually liked that damn toad. And when it happened, I was mostly just relieved."

Harry smiled, knowing that this wasn't the entire truth. "Well, I also wanted to thank you for what you did for Hermione. I know she'd feel absolutely awful if she knew what happened, and I'm really grateful to you for thinking of her. Anyway, the point is, I wanted to make up for it as best I could, so I got you this." Harry stuffed the Magical Menagerie gift certificate into Neville's hand, winked, and scooted out the door before the astonished boy could have a chance to protest.

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That evening, Harry made his way deep into the bowels of the castle to Helga's kitchen. He stomped into the room, growling, "All right, Miss _Empath_! We need to have a talk aboout these little scarves of yours! It seems they do quite a bit more than advertised!"

"No, they don't," the plump woman replied calmly, without even looking up from her knitting. "They do exactly what I said they would."

"You said protection, lightweight, unbreakable, and to keep me from losing it. You didn't say anything about emotional manipulation!"

Now Helga looked up from the knitting needles flashing in her hands, and gave Harry a coy smile. "Didn't I?" she said smugly.

Harry looked rather nonplussed. "No...you really didn't."

Helga sighed. "If it had been Salazar that had given you this, you would have considered every possible meaning of every word he said about it. But nooooo, not Helga! 'Sweet Hufflepuff' would never say anything misleading!" She managed to hold an indignant pose for all of three seconds before bursting into giggles.

Harry thought about it for a moment, while glaring at the giggling founder. "You consider it a protection charm?" he guessed.

Helga smirked. "Nope."

Harry tried again, but was still completely lost. "Could I get a hint?" he finally asked.

Helga's smirk grew wider. "Hmm. A hint. Well, let's just say that I would expect a sixth-year student to be more than old enough to keep track of his own clothing without magical assistance."

For a moment, Harry just stared blankly. "You said it had a charm to keep me from losing it."

"Indeed, I did. But I never specified what 'it' was. You just assumed 'it' meant 'the scarf'."

It finally clicked. "You intended for me to assume as much, and you know it," Harry grumbled, though he couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the cleverness of the ruse.

"Moi? 'Sweet Hufflepuff'? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. So, Salazar told me you had some big news to share?"

Harry blushed, and mumbled something under his breath about meddlesome old revenants. "Tom...sort of...in his own way...asked me to marry him," Harry announced.

Helga squealed, clapped her hands, and pulled him into a warm embrace. "And you said yes?"

"No," Harry stated.

Helga gasped. "But Harry, why would say no? You love him, I can tell!"

"By 'sort of, in his own way' asked me, what I really meant was, 'told me he was going to marry me,' not giving me a chance to say yes or no."

"That's cheating! And I thought that I had managed to teach that young man some form of manners! Harry, the next time you see him, you tell him that you won't marry him until he asks you properly, like a gentleman."

"But...he already knows I want to marry him. Especially now that I've already agreed. Why should he ask a question he already knows the answer to? I'm not a girl, and I don't want flowers, candy, and romance."

Helga's warm cinnamon gaze met Harry's cool emerald. "Harry, take it from a woman who has seen a lot of relationships in her time--a marriage proposal isn't really about the answer. By the time it gets to that point, both parties should already know that they want to commit to each other for life. A marriage proposal is about letting your guard down. The moment where one person bares their heart to another, knowing that it may be rejected. It's about making yourself completely vulnerable to the one you love, and trusting them not to hurt you. It's a rite that proves love, trust, and commitment, on both sides. It's not just a formality."

Harry took several moments to consider this, then shook his head. "I'm sorry Helga, I don't think I can ask him for that. Tom has never allowed himself to be vulnerable to anyone. It's too much to ask."

Helga gave him a pointed gaze, but said only, "Well, it's something I hope you'll think about, anyway. But whatever you decide, congratulations, and I know you and Tom will be exceedingly happy together." Harry accepted Helga's congratulations, then excused himself. He still needed to visit Salazar and check up on the egg, and he had a great deal of reading to do. He hissed out the password to the Chamber of Secrets, and felt himself pulled into the lowest dungeon.

Upon arrival, Harry caught Salazar once again staring in utter fascination at the egg. The magic radiating from it had gotten just a tiny bit stronger since the day before, and Harry was happy to see that it still appeared to be working.

"Hey Salazar," Harry greeted.

"Good evening, Harry," Salazar replied, though he didn't turn around to look at the boy.

"How much longer do you reckon it'll be?" Harry asked.

"Well, it's been sixteen days so far. Which you know. It's supposed to take twenty-one days total. Which you also know. Since you were unable to answer that question on your own, I assume the problem is a lack of simple math skills. Remind me to speak to the other Founders about adding Remedial Maths to the Hogwarts curriculum. In the meantime, the answer is five more days," Salazar snarked at him.

Harry poked him in the side. "I guess I deserved that. Ask a stupid question and all that."

"Indeed."

The spirit really didn't seem inclined to further conversation, so Harry left Salazar in peace with the egg, and went into the library to get the two books Tom had suggested. He took both books back up to Gryffindor tower, used the spell to hide what he was reading, and settled down to read, starting with the book on ritual magic.

Two hours later, he was beginning to see why ritual magic had fallen out of favor. The ancient tome, handwritten, and in terribly archaic language, was extremely difficult to read. Thus far, Harry had only read the introduction--one hundred pages of flowery rhetoric that seemed to boil down to: Be Careful! At the end of the chapter, Harry found a note, written in Tom's handwriting. It read:

_"Summary of Introduction: _

_1. Ritual magic is highly complex. Get even one step wrong, and the ritual fails._

_2. Consequence of failure: Could be just wasted effort, but could be death. Or anything in between. (Well **that's** helpful.)_

Harry could almost feel the sarcasm coming off the page.

_3. Should you actually manage to succeed, ritual magic is highly potent and completely irreversible. Be bloody damn sure of what you want before attempting."_

Harry snickered, appreciating Tom's sense of humor. Of course, he rather wished he could have found that note before he spent all that time reading the whole introduction. After the introduction, the book began listing individual rituals, and the steps needed to accomplish them. He knew he'd never be able to make himself actually read through every ritual in the book, so instead, he flipped through until he found the one he wanted. It was called simply "Consortem," and it was a binding ritual for two male partners. Harry read further:

_"If thou shouldst wish to be bound forevermore to thy partner, herein shalt thee find thine answer. But heed ye this warning! Thou shalt be bound by body, by magic, and by soul. These bindings, once formed, shall not ever be torn asunder, even though they be assaulted by the power of a thousand Merlins. Death itself shall claw at the bond, and rend it not, for where once were two, there shall be but one, and how could a being be rendered separate from itself?_

_Harkening to this warning, if thou shouldst still wish to proceed, thou must needs follow precisely these instructions. Deviate not from the path laid out, or thou shalt find only loosing wherein binding was sought._

_Firstly, thee and thy submissive partner must come to the ritual freely, of thine own will. Thy submissive partner must be Untouched by all hands, even thine own, upon entering the ritual._

_Secondly, thou and thy submissive partner must spend one full cycle of the earth in silent meditation. Naught but air may pass your lips; neither food, nor drink, nor speech. Thou shalt abstain thyself from these things until the ritual asks for thy words._

_Thirdly, thee and thy submissive partner must face each other in thine own natural states, exposing all and concealing nothing. No implement of man nor magic may hide thee from each other's sight. Thee and thy submissive partner shall Cleanse each other, bathing thyselves in water, to which thou hast added chickweed, hyssop, anise, and sage. Thee and thy submissive partner must then anoint one another with Juno's oil. Arise from thy bath, and come thee to thy bedchamber._

_Fourthly, take thee thy heart's blood, and that of thy submissive partner. Mix them well. With no implement but thine own finger, thou shalt mark thy partner with the mixed blood, in the rune of ansuz upon the brow, in the rune of gebo upon the heart, and in the rune of wunjo upon the groin. Thou shalt likewise be marked by thy partner. _

_Fifthly, thou shalt give unto thy partner these words: "With Merlin and Morgana as my witness, I, (state thy name), claim thee (state thy partner's name), as my Consort. As proof of my claim, I offer unto thee my body, my soul, and my magic. Thou art mine from this day forward."_

_Thy partner shall respond, "With Merlin and Morgana as my witness, I, (thy partner shall state his name), accept the claim of (thy partner shall state thy name). I give myself to him as his Consort. As proof of my acceptance, I offer unto thee my body, my soul, and my magic. Thou art mine from this day forward."_

At that point, the book started going into the physical consummation of the binding, in quite graphic detail. Harry blushed, but he knew it was only partly from embarrassment. There was also a good deal of anticipation causing the flush of blood to his skin.

He thought these might be the longest four months of his life.

But at least he could go to sleep now, and spend some quality time with Tom. He was sure that would help.

After falling asleep and waking up again, he found the magical representation of himself no longer in Tom's study, but in the bedroom. And wearing only his boxers.

"My, my, Harry, were we expecting something?" Tom's svelte voice came from behind him.

Harry spun around, only to find Tom in a similar state of dress. "Well, you're the one who brought me to your bedroom, so if I was, it must have been mutual," Harry replied, smirking.

Tom pulled him into a deep and passionate kiss, and Harry responded gladly. "Merlin, Tom, has it really only been two days? I've missed you so much," Harry murmured when he was released from the kiss.

"I've missed you too, Harry," Tom whispered back, biting along the edge of Harry's ear. Harry moaned into the intimate embrace. "Dearest Morgana, however shall I make it through four months without claiming you, my precious little serpent?"

Harry, now gently nibbling Tom's neck, answered, "I read about the ritual before bed tonight, Tom, and I was thinking the exact same thing."

And then conversation ceased, as Tom attacked Harry's mouth with intense fervour. Their tongues wrestled for control, but Tom, with his height advantage and greater experience, easily won, and Harry submitted, allowing Tom's tongue to map out the warm cavern of his mouth. Of course, that didn't mean Harry was going to just lie still and let Tom do whatever he wanted. Not breaking the kiss, he thrust his hips up against Tom's, bringing their silk-covered members into sharp contact. Tom obviously liked that, as he moaned deeply into the kiss. So Harry did it again. And again. Not to be outdone, Tom thrust his own hips against Harry's, making Harry cry out in pleasure. Suddenly, even the thin silk of their boxer shorts was too much of a barrier, and Harry frantically reached to pull Tom's down, feeling Tom's hands doing the same to his own, still not breaking their desperate kiss. With the removal of that last barricade, the two bare erections touched. Harry could no longer tell if he was thrusting against Tom or Tom was thrusting against him, but that didn't matter. Each thrust brought a higher level of ecstasy, and just when Harry couldn't take it anymore, Tom's hand reached down and fisted them both together, and at the same instant, they screamed their release into each other's mouths.

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The next morning at breakfast, Hermione was surrounded by an excited cluster of Gryffindor girls. They were passing around a piece of parchment, reading it aloud to each other and exclaiming over various parts. Harry put on a confused look and went to sit down with the other boys, who were trying their best to pretend nothing unusual was happening.

"He says he's long admired you from a distance, and now he wants to take a chance at getting closer! That's so sweet!" cooed one girl.

"And that perfume he got you! That's expensive stuff! Wow, Hermione, he must really like you!" another chimed in.

"Do you have any idea who it could be?" Ginny asked, and that question caused all the other girls to fall silent and look straight at the curly-haired brunette.

Hermione, blushing furiously, managed to stammer out, "I really haven't the faintest idea."

Parvati, with a smirk, squealed out, "I know a way! There's a simple spell you can use to see who sent a letter."

"Really, now, I'm pretty sure anyone who would go to this much trouble would also be sure to block the Writer ID Charm!" Hermione tried to interrupt, but it was too late.

Parvati tapped the parchment with her wand, and said, "Scribere Identitatum!"

Harry had to cover up his smirk, as he had in fact blocked the charm, and put in a little something extra as well.

As soon as Parvati finished saying the spell, she was hit in the face with a flash of purple light. A new sentence appeared at the bottom of the parchment, "Maybe this will help you learn to keep your nose out of other people's business."

Parvati reached up to her face, touching it gently. She screamed and asked Lavender frantically for her mirror. The mirror simply confirmed what her fingers had told her.

She no longer had a nose.

Some of the girls were shrieking in absolute horror, but most of them were obviously trying not to laugh. Finally, a fifth year girl managed to calm the hysterical girl down enough to take her to the hospital wing. The gossip at the Gryffindor table about who the secret admirer could be continued, but no one else attempted any spells to figure it out.

Over at the Slytherin table, most of the students were laughing at the nose-less Gryffindor and moving on with their day. But one lone person kept sending minute glances over to the table, with a tiny, barely detectable frown on their face.

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Thanks again for sticking with me and this story, despite the unforgivably long time between updates! And remember:

For every review you leave, Tom and Harry will donate 5 sickles to the Association for the Salvation of Serpents (which they started, but unfortunately let Hermione name...)


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

To all reviewers: MAJOR hugs and kisses! I know the last update took forever, and I was so happy to find out that people were still following my story! Your reviews keep the motivation flowing. :)

For the rest of the week, Harry and Salazar's anticipation grew higher and higher. The amount of magic coming from the egg grew higher and higher, and by Thursday night, it was so powerful that even a muggle might have been able to see it.

The magic seemed to have become too much for poor Trevor the toad, and as Harry was leaving the Chamber late Thursday night, the poor old amphibian gave one last faint croak before going on to the next great adventure. Harry was slightly worried about this, but Salazar reassured him that it was to be expected. A magical animal or being could handle and even benefit from strong fields of magic, as their bodies were designed to deal with it. For a mundane animal, or a muggle, strong magical fields were somewhat akin to radiation. Exposure to magic, either over a long term or in large amounts, was extremely harmful to their health. Harry was sadistically amused to learn that Filch was actually only 33 years old.

At any rate, the magic had continued to flow freely from the egg even after poor old Trevor croaked (Harry snickered at the unintentional pun he'd just made), so he assumed that Salazar was right, and everything was still progressing as it should.

Friday morning, just as Harry was preparing to go to breakfast, he suddenly felt an overwhelming jolt. Unprepared as he was, it brought him to his knees as it struck (though luckily, he was alone, and therefore did not have to try and explain it). When he recovered, he knew that his presence was requested in the Chamber _immediately_.

In the next instant, he had given the password, and found himself reappearing next to a frenetically pacing Salazar.

"You know, you could really take a page out of Helga's book and be a little more subtle in your summoning," Harry noted. "My ears are still ringing."

Salazar stopped his pacing to give Harry an incredulous stare. "You're about to witness the birth of a basilisk, and all you can do is complain that I gave you a tiny little push?"

"It's hatching?" Harry gasped, ringing ears completely forgotten.

"Yes! It's almost time now! Look--the egg has cracked!" Salazar sat down in front of the egg, staring as though the world would end if he blinked.

Harry remembered that he would need to stand back, at least at first, to make sure the baby imprinted on Salazar. He dispelled the cage from around the egg, and increased the temperature on the warming charm just a touch. The egg had indeed cracked, and was now beginning to shake very slightly.

A second crack appeared, perpendicular to the first. The egg shook harder. More and more cracks appeared, until finally, a head started pushing against the top.

"§That's right, little one,§" Salazar's voice came in a strange hissing coo. "§Keep pushing. Just a little more. You can do it.§"

And then the ambient magic that had surrounded the egg was siphoned away, as though going down a drain, and entered the tiny serpentine body that pushed its way out of the shell.

"§Mummy?§" it hissed.

Salazar gave a shout of pure joy. "By Morgana, it worked!" he whispered reverentally.

"§Mummy!§" the baby snake hissed, more insistently this time.

Salazar chuckled, and answered, "§No, little hatchling. My name is Salazar.§" He picked the tiny serpent up and began petting it gently.

The newborn pulled its head back and gave a confused, questioning hiss. Then it leaned forward again and said, very firmly, "§Mummy!§"

Salazar made his tone just as firm. "§Not mummy. Salazar.§"

"§Hungry, mummy!§" was the only reply.

Harry, who had been valiantly holding back, could no longer resist, and burst out into peals of laughter. Salazar, feeding a mouse to the newborn snake, snarled, "You are about three seconds away from being fed to my new pet."

Harry managed to stop laughing, but only to say, "So, Mummy. Does he have a name yet?"

Now Salazar turned to look at Harry. "_Her_name is Arietta. And why in Merlin's name do you have that ridiculous cloth tied over your eyes? Don't you want to see her?"

"You-you named her after me? And of course I want to see her, but that whole 'death in one glance' thing makes that a bit difficult, doesn't it?"

"Lion cub, take off that silly cloth now! Arietta hasn't hurt me, and she won't hurt you either!"

"Easy for you to say! She can't kill you, you're already dead!"

"I'm sure you recall what the power of a basilisk stare did to Nearly-Headless Nick. She could do the same to me. But she will not."

"Are you sure? I'm awfully fond of being alive, you know."

"Harry, Arietta's stare is nothing compared to what Tom would do to me if I allowed you to come to harm."

Harry blushed. "All right, then." He took his blindfold off, and slowly opened his eyes.

Arietta, in his admittedlly biased opinion, was beautiful. Her scales were a shimmering blue-green colour on the top and sides, and her belly was a pearlescent white. Her head was crowned with a tiny crest a shade darker than her scales. Her eyes, when Harry finally looked into them, sparkled like topaz.

Harry gently picked her up and brought her to eye level. "§Hello, Arietta§," he hissed gently.

"§Nest mate?§" she hissed back, butting her nose gently against his.

"§Nest mate,§" he confirmed wryly. "§My name is Harry.§"

Arietta pulled her head back and yawned, exposing tiny gleaming fangs. "§Sleepy, nest mate!§"

Harry smiled at her. "§Then go to sleep, little one. Mummy will watch over you.§" With that, he handed Arietta back to Salazar. While he Conjured a large, soft cushion and cast Warming charms over it, Salazar was--Harry couldn't believe it. Was he really?

Yes, the fearsome Salazar Slytherin was really cuddling a baby snake, and hissing a soft lullaby.

It was hilarious, and Harry knew he would be having a good laugh over it later, but at the moment, he could only think of how terribly sweet it was, and his heart warmed as he Disillusioned himself and whispered "§exit.§"

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The following Thursday, Harry was walking back from class with Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and several other Gryffindor students. He was only half following the conversation, as he was thinking about an excuse he could use to get away to see Arietta again. She was already twice as big as she had been a week ago, and he was fascinated watching his little "nest mate."

"Are you even listening, Harry?" Ginny's voice interrupted his reverie.

"Um...sorry, no. I was thinking about next week's Quidditch game. What were you saying?"

"I was just telling Hermione how much I liked her book bag," the red-headed girl replied. "It's dragon hide, it can hold as much as you want to put in it, and it'll never get heavy. It has compartments for quills and inks that keep the quills from ever breaking and the ink from ever spilling, and the straps have special comfort spells on them. I wish I could get one like it!"

Harry looked at the bag in question. "Hey, that is nice," he agreed. "Is it new?"

Hermione gave him a quick wink, then blushed and replied, "Yes, I just got it last Friday. It's been ever so useful, I don't know how I ever got along without it. The brown dragon hide is beautiful, too."

The girls in the group started giggling, but just as Parvati opened her mouth to ask another question, Hermione quickly said, "Does anyone need help with the essay for Astronomy?"

Neville, Seamus, and Lavender all started asking questions simultaneously, and the conversation moved on to the gravitational pull of the moon and its effects on the tides, and why this was important for magic.

Looking back on it, Harry was quite confused. Hermione's new book bag was nice, but why was everyone still talking about it a week after she got it? Why had she winked at him? Why did all the girls giggle when she talked about it? And why had she changed the subject so quickly and obviously?

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Another week later, Harry was in the Chamber, feeding Arietta. She was now three times the size she had been at birth, making her about forty-five centimeters long, and seemed to eat almost constantly. But Harry still thought she was one of the most adorable things he'd ever seen. Suddenly, he remembered something.

"Hey Salazar?"

"Yes Harry?"

"It's after the Easter holidays now."

"So it is. My congratulations on having mastered the art of reading a calendar. Perhaps next year you will learn to tie your own shoes like a big boy."

"Ha bloody ha. The sorting hat never mentioned that Slytherin was the house for wanna-be comedians."

"Didn't it? It must be because our sense of humour is under-appreciated. The subtleties of our wit are lost on those who prefer the idiotic showboating and pratfalls of Gryffindors."

Before Harry could respond to that, Salazar continued. "However, I will give you the benefit of the doubt and I assume you had a reason for mentioning the date. I hope you will prove me right."

"You promised to give me a hint if I hadn't found Rowena by the Easter holidays."

Salazar scratched his chin thoughtfully. "So I did." He did not seem inclined to say anything else.

"Well?" Harry asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"Patience, lion cub, I am deciding how much information I should give you. She would be most upset with me if I made it too easy. She likes those who can prove their intelligence, after all."

"Maybe you could tell me which floor to search?"

Salazar smirked. "No, that would not be possible."

"Why not? Is that really narrowing it down too much?"

"That is not the reason I cannot answer your question. However, telling you the true reason would be giving away too much."

Harry couldn't make any sense of that, and sighed in frustration. "Is there anything else you might deign to tell me? You're not giving me a lot to go on here."

Salazar stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Two more things. First, many people in the castle have spoken to her, though very few ever realize it. You may have already spoken to her yourself."

Harry thought about that for a moment, wondering what it implied. Did that mean she Obliviated people after speaking to them? That she was in disguise? That she only interacted with people on a subconscious level? Still pondering, he asked, "And second?"

"Second...do you know how to enter the Ravenclaw common room?"

Harry blinked in surprise. "I've never been there, but I assume it has a password, just like Gryffindor and Slytherin?"

"That would be a 'no,' then. My second hint is this: Find out how to enter Ravenclaw Tower. Once you've done that, and taken at least a week to think over it, if you still can't figure it out, I might grace you with another hint."

"Well, that part should be easy enough," Harry mused. "On another note, does Gryffindor's spirit only exist in the Hat, or can he appear like you and Helga?"

"Godric's spirit can manifest itself anywhere within the same room as the Hat. He's always been big on the formalities, though--pomp and tradition and ritual. He won't speak to you until you greet him properly as the family Patriarch."

"The what now?"

"The family Patriarch. The male head of the family. Godric enjoys talking to people, especially those of his line, but he would never let any member of his family dispense with the formalities. I can't count how many times I've heard him dither on about 'proper respect for wizarding traditions.' While he was Headmaster, he made sure all muggle-raised students were educated in wizarding customs, and _he_ was actually the one who started using the word 'Mudblood' for those who refused to adapt."

Harry was quite taken aback at this version of history. "Seriously? Then...how did you and your house get the reputation for only allowing pure-blood students?"

"Godric's oldest child, Garret, was of a rebellious nature. He hated formal behaviour, and enjoyed spending time amongst muggles. He fell in love with a muggle girl and married her. That in itself would not have been problematic, but he insisted on sharing his magical nature not only with her, but also with her family, and then her entire village. At first, things were fine. The villagers were thrilled by the magical solutions Garret offered for their problems, and he was very popular with his neighbours. Godric passed on, and Garret became the head of the family. He used the name of Gryffindor to encourage wizards and muggles to live together in harmony. As Godric had never written down any of his ideals, the philosophy associated with the Gryffindor name changed."

"You said 'at first' the villagers liked Garret and his magic." Harry commented. "What happened to him?"

"As you know, there are many problems that magic cannot solve. As problems of that nature arose, the villagers began to be less grateful and more suspicious. They did not understand magic, and began to fear that Garret would use it against them. It all came to a head when the son of a man Garret had a public disagreement with fell ill. Garret attempted to cure the child, but he did so with a potion. As you may know, but Garret did not, most potions are poisonous to muggles. The child died immediately after consuming the potion, and Garret was blamed for the child's death. The villagers turned on him, and killed his wife and two children. Garret himself barely escaped with his life, and he fled to Hogwarts. He arrived at the castle gate gravely injured. I was the one who found him."

"That's horrible! Did he--did he make it?"

"No. He lived just long enough to tell me what had happened, and to warn me. The villagers had been told where to find Hogwarts, and were planning to attack. He begged me to do whatever I could to fix his mistake, and those were his last words."

"I don't understand. How could muggles attack Hogwarts if they can't even see it?"

"A good question. The attack was easily repelled, but in the aftermath, Rowena, Helga, and I decided to make sure it could never happen again. It took a great amount of planning and power, but we cast the wards that would make Hogwarts invisible to muggle eyes. I left the school and spent the rest of my life trying to fulfill Garret's dying wish, ensuring the secrecy of the magical world. This, of course, included publishing books on the subject. As history progressed, those idiots who believed in magical inbreeding co-opted my writings to promote their own agenda, and thus was my reputation made."

"Wow."

"Indeed."

"Someday, when I'm in a stronger position, I'll attempt to clear your name."

"Harry, you don't have to do that. I'm more than used to it by now."

"But it isn't fair! You deserve a good name, and the wizarding world deserves the truth!"

Salazar just laughed. "Gryffindors. Hasn't anyone ever told you that life isn't fair?"

"Do you really think that _I_, of all people, don't already know that?" Harry snapped. "The world is never going to be a perfect place, true. That doesn't mean we should never try to make it any better!"

"You're right, Harry. But this is a minor injustice, and long in the past. Focus your energy on the injustices of the present."

Harry set his lip stubbornly. "The damage done to _you_ might be in the past. But it continues affecting the students in your house to this day."

"So it does. Do you really think exposing the truth about me would change the reputation of my house?"

"It couldn't hurt."

"Perhaps. Don't you have a class to be getting to?"

"I do. But before I go, I'm afraid my muggle upbringing was rather lacking in muggle etiquette, let alone wizarding. Does the library happen to have a book that could teach me how to greet my family Patriarch?"

"Of course. I suggest 'Complete Guide to Manners and Etiquette.'"

"Who's the author?"

"Me, of course."

Harry laughed. "Thanks, Salazar. I'll see you later. §Arietta, be good for mummy.§"

As Salazar aimed a smack at his head, Harry whispered "§exit,§" disappearing and dodging the blow.

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Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room, reading the book Salazar had given him that morning. It was sort of dry, but not terrible. At the very least, it was quite informative. Harry wondered how much of it had changed since Salazar's time, and when Hogwarts had stopped teaching this sort of things to muggle raised students. If he was ever in a position to have a say in the matter, Hogwarts would do so again.

Hermione came in through the portrait hole and smiled at him. "Hey, Harry, can I talk to you for a sec?" she asked.

"Of course," Harry replied.

She sat down next to him and glanced at the book open on his lap. A frown came over her face. "Harry, what on earth are you reading?" she whispered urgently.

Harry was surprised. Okay, not a lot of boys his age were especially concerned with manners, but there weren't a lot of boys in his position, either. "Er...it's just a book about wizarding etiquette. Why are you looking at me like that? I know it's not quite a usual subject, but it's still rather useful."

Hermione drew her wand and cast an several privacy charms, along with a Muffliato spell. "Harry," she whispered. "Where did you get that book? Did you honestly not notice?"

Ignoring the question of where the book came from, Harry, completely bewildered, asked "Notice what?"

"Harry, that book isn't written in English, or any other language I recognize. And as far as I'm aware, the only languages you know are English...and Parseltongue."

Harry groaned inwardly. This was one book he had expected would be in English, and that wasn't about a suspicious subject, so he hadn't bothered using a concealing spell. Now that Hermione mentioned it, though, he could see the squiggly lines that a non-Parselmouth would see the book as.

"Hermione, I swear I didn't know," he told her. I can see it now that you've told me, but I swear, it just looked like English to me."

"But where did you get it? I'm sure the library wouldn't have anything like that."

Harry sighed. "Hermione, do you trust me?"

"Of course I do, Harry, why would you even ask me that?"

"Because I want to tell you the truth, but I'm afraid of how you'll react. You have to promise me that even if what I tell you makes you angry, you won't tell anyone else."

"What could be that bad?"

"Promise, first."

"All right, Harry. I swear on my magic that I will not reveal to anyone anything told to me by Harry James Potter in the next five minutes."

A flash of blue surrounded her, showing that the oath was binding.

Harry took a deep breath. If Hermione could accept this, maybe eventually she could accept his relationship with Tom?

"There's a library in the Chamber of Secrets. I got it from there."

In hindsight, Harry supposed he should have expected her reaction.

"A whole library? Really? Is it big? Are all of the books in Parseltongue? Oh, I can't even imagine what must be in there! Can you show me?"

After continuing to babble in that vein for a good minute, Hermione seemed to catch herself. She paused, and put a stern look on her face. "That is, I mean to say, are you sure that's safe? I'm sure it must be full of dark magic."

Harry laughed. "It is a whole library, and it's quite big. Most of the books are in Parseltongue, but not all of them. I'm sure there a lot of books in there that can't be found anywhere else in the world. I don't think it would be safe for me to show you. And it has a section of dark magic, but that section is actually only a small part. And you already knew I was studying some dark magic."

Hermione smiled at him. "I know I told you this before, but be careful, Harry. And I respect your right to privacy, but you should know that you can always talk to me about anything. I won't judge you, and I won't tell anyone else your secrets."

"Thanks, 'Mione." Harry put the book away in his bag to cast the concealing spell on later. "Now, before all this came up, you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Oh, yes. Harry, I appreciate all the gifts, I really do, but honestly, you don't have to keep sending them! I'm actually getting a bit tired of all the attention. It's terribly frustrating trying to study while all the girls gossip about who could be sending them."

Harry frowned in puzzlement. "Hermione, what are you talking about? All the gifts?"

"Oh, you know, the perfume, the flowers, the books, the chocolates, the bookbag. They were all very nice, Harry, but really, it's enough!"

"Hermione, those weren't from me. Well, I mean, the perfume was, but those other things you mentioned, I didn't even know you got them."

Hermione froze. "Harry, are you serious? Who else could have sent them?"

A horrible possibility occured to Harry, one that he didn't quite want know how to bring up. He was horrible at being delicate. But it couldn't be ignored.

"Erm...well...you know I think you're a beautiful girl, and smart, clever, funny, caring, and passionate. Any bloke would be lucky to date you. I'm sure there are dozens of guys who like you enough to send you gifts."

"Thanks Harry. Now, whatever you're trying to say, just spit it out."

"Well, it's just...um...did you...did you...check the gifts for curses? I know, I know, that's a horrible thing to say, and it's horribly insensitive of me to suggest that no one would send you nice present just because they like you, because they would, and it probably is exactly what it looks like. Please don't hex me?"

Hermione just laughed. "It'd be awfully hypocritical of me if I got mad at you for suggesting that anonymous gifts might be hexed, now wouldn't it? I didn't check them yet, since I thought they were from you, but I'd better go do that. Would you give me a hand?"

"Sure, if you really want me to," Harry said in surprise. He knew Hermione didn't think he was stupid, but he didn't think she would ever consider him able to help her solve a magical problem. It was rather nice, he decided, to be respected for his abilities.

Harry and Hermione checked all the gifts, but neither was able to find anything.

"Just as I thought," Harry grinned. "You've just got yourself an admirer with deep pockets and exquisite taste. Congratulations."

Hermione blushed, and Harry bid her goodnight.

An hour later or so, he was back in Tom's study. After a quick, but satisfactory greeting kiss, they sat down together on their love seat.

"So, little serpent. Three more months until the Consort ritual. Have you finished with that book yet?"

"Well, I read the instructions for the ritual itself, but you didn't really expect me to read the entire thing, did you? It's rather dry."

Tom sighed. "Please tell me that you also read the introduction? It is absolutely essential that you understand the basics of ritual magic as a whole."

"I did, though I thought your summary conveyed the information just as accurately, and quite a bit more efficiently."

"Forgive me if I don't quite recall what I wrote, it has been fifty years, after all."

"You summarized the introduction in three sentences. Follow the instructions precisely, there are consequences for failure, and the results are permanent, so be bloody damn sure. Tell me, Tom," Harry winked flirtatiously, "Are you 'bloody damn sure' about this?"

"Would I do this if I wasn't?" Tom rebutted, giving Harry a quick kiss. "But returning to the point, when you feel that you have finished with the book, please return it to the Chamber library. It has been some time since I read it, and I wish to refresh my memory so that I may begin making the necessary preparations."

"Sure thing. I'll bring it back tomorrow."

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Hermione discovered her mistake, and attempted to rename the Association for the Salvation of Serpents, but it was too late. The wizarding world was already overcome with buttons, t-shirts, and patches sporting slogans such as:

-I heart A.S.S.

-A.S.S. is for everyone

-Proud A.S.S. supporter

-A.S.S.: Not just for Slytherins

-I'm an A.S.S. man

-The world needs A.S.S.

And while Hermione was slightly embarrassed, A.S.S. made so much money from selling these items that funding was never an issue again.


	23. Chapter 23

Let's play a madlib!! Everyone likes those, right? Right?

I know it's been four months since I updated, and it's because of [**good excuse]. **And I'd like to say to all of my readers [**lengthy apology words]. **I know I am a [**negative adjective(s)]** person.

But I also know my readers are [**at least three positive adjectives]** people. And because of that, and since it is the season of forgiveness, when they throw [**plural nouns]** at me, they will do so [**adverb]**. And I hope that they will then continue to read and review my story.

(That probably seems flippant, but I am genuinely sorry for the extremely long time it's taken me to update. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and kept believing that I would continue the story!)

Without further ado, **Chapter 23**

Walking alone through the halls of Hogwarts, a young man looked down at the Slytherin badge on his robes, scowling. He wasn't truly ashamed of his house--in fact, he and his family had been sworn liegemen of the Slytherin family since before the founding of Hogwarts, and he was proud to continue that tradition--but he hated what it had been twisted to represent. He and his family were aware of the true meaning of the word 'mudblood,' and all the rest of what Slytherin's teachings had truly meant. But they had never been one of the most wealthy or influential families, and they had never been able to convince other pureblood families. Those families were content with the abuse of the word mudblood, since it gave them a feeling of superiority and a target for all of their base desires.

None of this had ever truly bothered him before. He knew that Lord Voldemort understood and believed in Slytherin's true ideals, and he had faith that the Dark Lord would, eventually, use them as a basis for his regime. His family had been patient for centuries, and he could be patient, too.

But now, everything had changed.

It had begun in his first year at Hogwarts, when he had seen Hermione Granger in their first flying lesson. She had seemed so supremely confident in all of their other lessons, and he had always admired the girl for her intelligence and magical strength. But oddly enough, it was seeing her so nervous and insecure made him realize she was beautiful, too. For the next several years, he watched from afar. He was highly irritated at the Yule Ball, with everyone talking about how beautiful she was as if it was some newly revealed secret.

Of course, even then, he hadn't felt threatened. He was fairly certain she had only agreed to go to the Ball with Krum because she was flattered, and saying 'no' would have been rude. Besides, he knew Krum would be going back to Durmstrang after the year ended. Despite the rumors, he also knew that she wasn't interested in either Potter or Weasley, and she never spent a lot of time with any of the other boys at school. The rumors, however, kept anyone else from getting too close. No one wanted to get on Potter's bad side, and if Hermione was dating either Potter or Weasley, flirtations with her would certainly do that. Not to mention the fact that her status as a 'mudblood' kept a significant number of boys from pursuing her. He thought it would be safe to wait it out, and approach her after school was finished, when school House was no longer so important, and he wouldn't have to worry about ruining either of their reputations.

And then she got that Mordred-damned letter. With the perfume. A gift that was both tasteful and expensive. The list of people who could have sent her that was fairly small. Suddenly, it seemed that he might have some competition after all. And he had been waiting far too long to go down without a fight.

No, he couldn't approach her in person. The badge on his robe was enough to prevent that. Not only would Potter and Weasley not allow him to get anywhere near her, his House would undoubtedly find out about it, and the least he could expect would be social outcasting. And she would probably believe it to be a trick or a prank.

But two could play the 'secret admirer' game. And so far, he thought he had played it fairly well. He knew she had liked all of the gifts he had sent so far. And now it was time to up the ante a bit. He was headed for the owlery to send off a special order.

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It had taken Harry a good bit of studying, but he now finally felt completely certain that he had perfectly memorized the etiquette required to present himself to the Patriarch of his family. And then he spent another month in waiting for a time he could get into and out of Dumbledore's office. Finally, a time came where Dumbledore would be away all weekend at a Ministry conference, and Harry still knew the password for the Headmaster's office. After careful research, he had decided that if he wore his invisibility cloak, Silenced his entire body, and used a charm to hide his magical signature, he could get into the office, borrow the hat for a while, talk to Godric, and return the hat with no one being the wiser. And if he did get caught, he could claim he had just wanted to talk to the Hat. It would be true, after all.

Taking the hat from the office went smoothly. Everyone else was at dinner when he went, so no one was there to see the gargoyle slide open and the staircase move. Fawkes had gone out with Dumbledore, and the Hat was being stored on a low shelf behind Dumbledore's desk, so none of the portraits saw it being taken away. Still Silenced and under the invisibility cloak, Harry took the Hat to the Room of Requirement. Once inside, he placed the Hat on a conveniently provided throne-like chair. He also asked the room for a few implements he would need for the mini-ritual and received them. Though it felt a little awkward speaking so formally to an article of clothing, Harry knelt in front of the chair and began.

"In the Name of Merlin and Morgana, I, Harry James Potter, son of James Alexander Potter and Lily Marie Evans Potter, scion of the line of Gryffindor, greet thee, Godric Gryffindor, Founder and Patriarch of the line of Gryffindor. May my every word and deed bring honour to our family."

As Harry finished his words, the Hat seemed to rise off the chair of its own accord. A moment later, the Hat was perched on the lap of a tall man wearing old-fashioned scarlet robes with gold accents. He was tall and muscular, with a stoic face. Everything about him was militarily neat and precise, except his hair, which was the exact same shade of black as Harry's, and tousled in a similar manner.

"In the Name of Merlin and Morgan, I Godric Gryffindor, Founder and Patriarch of the line of Gryffindor, greet thee, Harry James Potter, son of James Alexander Potter and Lily Marie Evans Potter, scion of my line. May our family always shelter, protect, and guide you."

Together, they chanted "May our family be blessed by Magic. May we be bold to protect each other, meek to guide each other, strong to defend each other, and gentle to comfort each other."

Harry then rose, and fetched a golden chalice filled with wine. He presented it to Godric, saying "The blood of our family flows through my veins. I present myself as the Heir of this family. If you will have me, partake of this wine." He returned to his kneeling position.

Godric took the chalice and raised it to his lips. He could not actually drink, but Harry assumed that was good enough for the sake of the symbolism. Godric spoke his return line. "The blood of our family flows through your veins. To be Heir, you must pledge to defend the family to your utmost ability, even if that blood must be shed. If you will accept this pledge, rise, and partake of this wine."

Harry rose, took back the chalice that Godric held out to him, and took a small sip. He then poured out the remainder of the cup, saying, "To defend this family, I would spill my blood as the wine spills from this cup. Let Merlin and Morgana bear witness to my pledge."

Godric rose, placed his large hands on top of Harry's head, and in a booming voice declared "Harry James Potter is hereby declared to be Harry James Potter Gryffindor, Heir of the Gryffindor family!" Scarlet and golden light swirled around the two men, filling Harry with a sense of love and belonging. As quickly as it had begun, it was over, and Godric had resumed his seat.

Formalities over, Harry silently asked the Room for a chair of his own, and once it was provided, he gratefully sat.

"So, young Harry," Godric's deep voice rumbled. "I accept you as Heir, but we have much to discuss. I'm quite disappointed in you, young man."

Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn't been expecting that. "I'm sorry to have disappointed you, Grandfather, but I don't know what I've done wrong."

Godric snorted. "Let's start out simply, shall we? You've been at Hogwarts for almost six full years now, yet you've neglected to speak to me until now. You don't seem like the sort to be so deliberately disrespectful, so I'll give you a chance to explain yourself. Why is that?"

"Well, I didn't even know I _was_ a member of your family until this year. And then Salazar told me you wouldn't speak to me until I had presented myself to you formally, and I didn't actually know how to do that, so I had to read about--"

"WHAT?!?" Godric exclaimed. "Are you trying to say that the last scion of the Gryffindor family--my Heir--is an uncultured Mudblood? Don't you have any respect for the sacred traditions of wizard kind?"

"I'm sorry, Grandfather. As I'm sure you know, my parents were killed when I was very young, and I was given to a muggle family. No one ever even told me that wizards had different traditions from muggles, let alone taught me about them. But I'm trying really hard to learn them now."

"I knew that you were given to a muggle family, though until your recent conversations with Dumbledore, I didn't know how badly they treated you. I assure you, of course, that I spent a great deal of time berating Dumbledore for his choice. Muggles should never be allowed to raise wizard children, and you serve as a prime example of that principle. But do you mean to say that Hogwarts no longer even teaches its students to observe the traditions of our kind? I thought it was a required course."

"I'm sorry to have to tell you that it's not anymore," Harry muttered. "It's not even an elective."

"Another thing I shall have to speak to Dumbledore about, then. Now, let's move on to the main point. Were you sincere in your pledge to defend and bring honour to the family?"

"Of course I was!" Harry answered hotly. "I don't swear things that I don't mean."

"Then you see why I cannot permit you to wed the current Heir of Slytherin."

"What?!?" Harry screamed. "I will defend and honour our family, but I will not let anyone tell me what I should or shouldn't do! I'm my own person and I can make my own decisions, including who I will or will not marry! Your fight with Salazar was over a thousand years ago, get over it!"

"I am over it!" Godric boomed in reply. "It has _nothing_ to do with Tom Riddle's family. As you know perfectly well, Salazar and _I_ never even fought. The quarrel was between him and my son, and it was mended when my son died. Salazar was my dear friend, and I would love to see our lines united. It has _everything_ to do with Tom Riddle himself; who he is and what he has done. Harry, he _murdered_ your parents! Members of our family! In cold blood, and with no remorse! How can you possibly consider it honourable to marry him?"

"You, along with Dumbledore and everyone on his side, seem to think that my mother and father were completely innocent civilians who had nothing to do with the war. It makes for a better story, after all. The Evil Lord Voldemort killing an innocent family. But the hard truth is that they were not. They were members of a vigilante organization dedicated to fighting him, and in fact had fought against him directly on three separate occasions. I don't even know how many times they fought against, and injured or killed, the members of his army. Lord Voldemort wants the same things you want. He's fighting for the same goals you fought for. And he didn't murder innocent civilians, he killed two enemy soldiers to protect what he believes is right."

Godric's frown grew deeper. "Even if I were to accept that argument, he attempted to kill you as well. And you _were_ a total innocent! You were a babe in your cradle, not an enemy soldier!"

Harry knew this wasn't the smartest thing to say, but he couldn't help himself. "Well, if I marry him, he won't ever be able to try that again. And he's the strongest wizard alive, so he'll be able to make sure no one else can, either. What better way to protect what's left of the family?"

Godric jumped out of his chair, the vein in his forehead pulsing angrily. "How can you be so flippant? Does the family's honour mean so little to you?"

Harry replied softly, "Does it mean so much to you that it's worth more than the family's existence? Does it mean more to you than my life?"

"You are not a weak wizard. You do not need to slink on your stomach to your parents' murderer just to save your own skin," Godric snarled.

"Grandfather, if I were to refuse Tom now, I would effectively be declaring myself against him. He would once again consider me his enemy. And though I may have the potential to one day be just as strong as he is, I'm 16 years old. I'm not even an adult yet. I'm not even close to being his equal. If I refuse him, he will kill me. But that is not why I'm marrying him."

"Then why?" Godric snapped.

Harry couldn't stop a small smile. "The basic reason that anyone marries anyone else. I love him. And you can't love part of a person. You either love what's bad and good about a person, or you don't love them at all. I know Tom better than anyone else. He is cruel, and ruthless, and power-hungry. But he is also strong, focused, beyond brilliant, charismatic, witty, and cunning. He is willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish his goals. And I love all of that."

Godric looked pained, but actually considered Harry's words. After several moments, he sighed, and said, "You say you love him, in spite of everything, and perhaps you speak the truth. And I would not see our family perish if it were within my power to prevent it. So I offer you this deal, young Heir: On the day you can prove to me that Lord Voldemort _loves __you_, I will give you both my blessing to wed."

With those words, the spirit of Godric disappeared, and Harry was left to gape in stunned silence at the Hat resting once again on the seat of the chair.

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The Dark Lord's anger was terrible to behold. Curses in a multitude of languages had been flowing from his mouth for two hours, and he had yet to repeat himself. Walls had been blasted apart, priceless heirlooms smashed beyond any hope of recognition, let alone repair, and even Nagini was making herself scarce. The Death Eaters were very lucky they had all been dismissed long ago, else at least one of them would have been torturted into insanity.

How could he, Lord Voldemort, have been so stupid?

He had settled down to re-read the Consort ritual that evening. And there, staring him right in the face, was the sentence that he could not believe he had forgotten...

_"Firstly, thee and thy submissive partner must come to the ritual freely, of thine own will._"

It was obvious. It was beyond obvious. This particular ritual was not Dark magic; of course it required the uncoerced consent of the parties. Rituals that created a bond without consent could only create slave bonds, not true partnerships. It was a basic principal of ritual magic.

What was he to do now? He could create a slave bond, but such things robbed the victim of any spirit, individuality, and ability to act or think independently. They would do exactly as their Master explicitly told them to do, nothing more and nothing less. They were not capable of any highly complex tasks, which included casting magic. If he did that, Harry--Potter, he reminded himself--would no longer really be Ha--Potter. It could be amusing for a while to have Potter in such a state, but tormenting a victim who had lost all ability to respond, or even understand their circumstances quickly grew boring. It wouldn't be worth the effort.

Could it be possible, maybe, that Harry might...no, he killed that thought before any feeling of hope could rise. Potter's feelings were entirely due to the potion. Once Potter had the antidote, he would return to his previous animosity. He would never agree to the ritual of his own true free will. Never had he imagined having a Consort, since he thought he would never find someone so strong, so beautiful, so intelligent, so stubborn, so, well, perfect. And now that he had found the closest person to his equal that he would ever find, and almost had a perfect Consort to stand by his side, he realized that the chance had always been illusory. The ritual could not succeed without Potter's true and free consent, and Potter would never give his true and free consent.

Well, if his dreams were to be smashed, at least he could wreak his vengeance on the stupid boy! He would return to the original plan. He would use Potter one more time, in a truly spectacular manner. Then he would give the worthless wretch the antidote, and watch as his face fell, his heart broke, and his world fell down around him.

As he formulated the details of his new plan, he steadfastly ignored the growing pain in his chest, and fiercely repressed the feelings of terrible loss...

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Hermione has struck again. As a Hogwarts professor, she wanted students to have more educational opportunities outside of school. So she founded a club called *Take Initiative To Study.* Donations go to support educational extracurricular activities (field trips to museums, zoos, and the like, guest speakers coming to talk about their careers, lectures on the latest discoveries in various fields, etc).

If you leave a review, five sickles will be donated to this wonderful organization in your name. Think of the children. Won't somebody _please_ think of the children?


	24. Chapter 24

Dear readers,

I am deeply sorry for the absurdly long delay in getting out this new chapter. All I can say is, if you've ever heard that law school is a bitch, it's the absolute truth.

The good news is, I have the next two weeks mostly free, and I am going to work on this fic as much as possible in that time.

The bad news is, at the end of August, I will probably not be able to update again until Christmas break.

But I will not ever abandon this! So even if updates continue to take a while, in the immortal words of Journey, "Don't Stop Believin'!"

Chapter 24

The following morning, Harry arose early, and, following a sudden whim, headed up to the owlery to spend some time with Hedwig. It had been a long time since he'd last done so, and he found that he was missing the beautiful bird.

When he reached the room, he found himself immediately under attack by a blur of white feathers. Hedwig was apparently quite disgruntled with him for staying away so long. As the bird nipped at his ear, he reached out carefully to stroke her on the back.

"Easy there girl! I know it's been a while, but I've just been so busy lately! I've missed you though, and look here, I brought you something special." He pulled a premium owl treat out of his pocket.

Hedwig, now perched on his shoulder, simply ruffled her feathers and shuffled her feet so that her back was turned to him. She flapped her wings a little and gave out a low hoot, acting for all the world like a jealous girlfriend. Harry kept his chuckle to himself.

"Well, if that's how you feel about it, I guess I'll just take this treat and go." he said. "Maybe some other owl will want it, and the bacon I have in my other pocket, and some scratches under her wings."

Predictably, Hedwig screeched at this idea, then spun her head around so that her eyes were staring straight into his. With as much dignity as an owl could muster, she turned her feet around to bring her body in line with her head. And then let out a sweet coo and rubbed her head against his cheek, acting for all the world as if she had never had any problems with Harry. Sighing, he climbed the stairs up to the upper turret above the owlery. He wondered if human females were as troublesome as the owl variant, and decided that he was very glad he would never have to find out.

From the upper turret above the owlery, Harry had long ago discovered that he could see into the owlery itself, but it was virtually impossible for anyone in that room to see him. He had also discovered that early in the morning, between when curfew ended and breakfast, was the prime time for anyone who wanted to send mail without being seen, and this morning was no different. He watched as a parade of letter senders came and went.

Draco Malfoy, blushing furiously, sent a letter addressed to "Mummy and Daddy." Colin Creevey sent a note to his girlfriend in Hufflepuff-and one to his boyfriend in Ravenclaw. Harry was pretty sure each of them thought their relationship with Colin was an exclusive one. He had to admit, it took some serious Gryffindor courage (and stupidity) to try that sort of thing at a boarding school. Susan Bones sent off an owl to Aphrodite's Anti-Acne Aid. Some tall skinny kid with dark hair, whom Harry only recognized as a Slytherin in his own year, sent something off to some place called Ophelia's Ornaments. He'd seen the bloke hanging around Daphne Greengrass fairly often; maybe he was buying a present for her. Then there was Padma Patil, sending off a letter to Magical Romances Publishing Company. He supposed for a Ravenclaw, it must be extra-embarrassing to be seen buying _that sort_ of book. The last person he saw before he headed down to breakfast was Professor McGonagall, sending off something to-no, it couldn't be. Yes, it was. Night-Tease, a shop that sold racy underthings.

He definitely could have lived without seeing that. He decided he should probably get to breakfast, before he ended up seeing Snape ordering bondage gear or something.

And instantly wished he could Obliviate himself to keep that thought from ever entering his head again.

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Lord Voldemort couldn't help the small smirk that formed over his face. He'd formed an absolutely perfect plan, one that would allow him to rid the world of the pesky old coot known as Dumbledore and punish the insolent brat known as Potter, all in one fell swoop.

Said brat arrived that evening, as usual, and Lord Voldemort put on his best mask. He kissed Harry in greeting, as usual, not giving away that anything had changed. It had nothing to do with wanting to take as many kisses from Harry as possible while he still could. Nothing at all.

"I have excellent news for you today, my little serpent," he began.

"Yes?" Harry smiled up at him eagerly. He hated that smile.

"I have formulated a plan to kill Dumbledore, and you will be the one to make it all possible."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. It made him look absolutely moronic. "That's-that's incredible news! How are we going to do it?"

"Easily. Indeed, it is so simple that I wonder that I did not think of it before." He paused, deciding to wait for Harry to ask. He did not have to wait long. It was annoying how Harry always knew what Tom wanted.

"Were you going to tell me the plan tonight, or did you plan to keep me in suspense?"

He laughed. Purely out of delight that his plan was already working so well.

"Some details still need adjustment, but the essence of the plan is this: during the next Hogsmeade weekend, which I believe is planned for May 8th, yes?"

"That's right," Harry confirmed. A little less than a month left that he had to spend with...put up with Potter.

"My servants will stage an attack on the village with one goal: the capture of Harry Potter. You, of course, will put up quite an impressive fight, but eventually be overcome. My servants will bind you and bring you before me. If at that time Dumbledore has not yet arrived, I will send a messenger to the castle requesting his presence."

"I think I see where this is going," Harry grinned. Honestly, he despised that stupid grin. "You plan to propose a trade."

"Yes. His life in exchange for yours."

"It _is_ brilliant," Harry said. Of course it was brilliant. It was his plan. He didn't need or want to hear Harry confirm that. "There's just one thing," Harry continued.

"Oh?" Tom was pretty sure he knew what Harry meant, but he was going to let the boy say it. Not because he was reluctant, of course, just because it was more fun that way..

"It's going to look pretty suspicious if you don't torture me at all." Harry said bravely. Idiotic Gryffindor.

"Not to worry, dear little serpent. I will have one of your captors feed you a powerful numbing potion. They will be told it is a potion to increase your sensitivity to pain. Though I will use the Cruciatus Curse, multiple times, you should not feel anything, except perhaps a mild tingling. I trust that you can act well enough to simulate the extreme pain."

Of course, in reality, it would be neither of those potions. It would be the antidote to the Erodition, and Potter would be feeling every one of those Curses. And that would be in addition to the agony of knowing he had served Lord Voldemort for almost a full year, had volunteered to take the Dark Mark, had lied, stolen, tortured, and killed for the Dark Lord, and had caused the death of his beloved Headmaster. And of course, how he had willingly given himself to Lord Voldemort for his physical pleasure. He could admit that it had been pretty damn pleasureful. But that was all Potter was really good for.

The two dark-haired men continued discussing the plan late into the evening. Throughout the night, Tom kept having to reject the thought that he would miss these meetings. Lord Voldemort thought instead of how he wished to see the idiotic brat writhing in torment, begging for his mercy. Mercy that would not be granted.

If Tom was going to hurt, then he was damn sure going to make sure somebody else hurt even worse than he did. And in the meantime, he was going to take all of the physical pleasure he could. Because honestly, that was all he liked about Ha-Potter.

Tom started his ministrations gently, stroking Harry's arm. As the night progressed, he gradually moved closer, one step at a time. Soon he was stroking Harry's neck. Then the stroking became more vigorous massaging. The massaging moved from the neck to the shoulders, and then to the back. His hand drifted lower and lower, finally starting to stroke Harry's arse.

"I think we really have the plan down," Harry was saying. Tom decided he'd had enough conversation. It was a boring conversation, anyway.

"Indeed. Of course, it seems that, in the course of our discussion, something else has...popped up," Tom said, with a meaningful smirk at the growing bulge in Harry's lap.

Harry, rather than blushing and stammering as Tom had expected, replied boldly. "Yes, well, there is that. And a related issue seems to have just arisen." He nodded at Tom's equal problem. "I think we should take care of these issues tonight, don't you?" And his boldness certainly wasn't attractive, it was just insolent and impudent.

Tom pulled Harry into his lap. "They are...quite...pressing," he purred, emphasizing each word with a thrust of his hips that pushed their groins together in a delicious heat.

Slowly and sensually, the two undressed each other. When Harry was about to go to his knees in front of Tom, the elder wizard stopped him.

§"Let's try it this way,"§ Tom hissed, as he magically changed the loveseat into a bed. He pulled Harry up onto the bed next to him, with his head at the opposite end of the bed from Tom's. Harry quickly caught on to what was wanted, and hissed back §"As my Lord wishes"§ before taking Tom's member smoothly into his mouth. As Tom reciprocated, and their mutual pleasure mounted, his last thought before release was of how much he was going to miss this.

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As Harry was leaving his last class of the day. and heading to the Great Hall for dinner, he found himself walking next to one Luna Lovegood. They hadn't spoken in a while, and Harry suddenly felt rather guilty about that fact.

"Hey Luna," he called out to her. They had a normal conversation for a while, or at least, as normal of a conversation as anyone could ever have with Luna Lovegood, and then Harry remembered that he'd been wanting to ask someone in Ravenclaw about the entrance to their common room. And Luna might be a tad -off- but she was still a Ravenclaw, and presumably did know how to enter her own common room. And she probably wouldn't ask him why he wanted to know, or tell anyone else that he'd asked.

He tried to think of a subtle way to broach the question, but he couldn't, and since it was Luna, he decided to just plunge right in.

"So, there's something I've been curious about for a while now, and I'm hoping you'll tell me the answer," Harry declared.

Luna didn't say anything, and just looked at him expectantly.

"How do you get into the Ravenclaw common room?"

"Oh, that's easy. Come on, I'll show you."

"Er...all right...but...don't you want to eat dinner?"

"Tonight isn't a good night. There are Skreekels about, and I don't have any Cymetoins to ward them off."

Harry wondered if this was just her way of saying she didn't like fish, which was the main course for dinner tonight, but didn't say anything as he followed her up to the common room.

When they reached the door, Harry noticed that it had no knob or keyhole, but only a brass knocker in the shape of an eagle. Luna grabbed the knocker and banged it against the door.

Much to Harry's surprise, instead of demanding a password, the eagle asked them a riddle:

"What is broken every time it's spoken?"

Luna looked over to Harry. He shrugged. She sighed and said "silence." The door clicked open.

Harry followed Luna in, since he was curious about what the inside looked like. He sat down at one of the large study tables, enjoying the view out of the large windows.

"So does it always ask a different riddle?" Harry asked Luna.

"Oh, it's probably repeated itself a few times over a thousand years, but no one I know of has ever gotten the same riddle twice."

"But what happens if you don't know the answer?"

"You wait until someone else comes along who can help you."

"Seriously? But what if it takes hours?"

"Then you _learn_, don't you? Rowena wanted her students to prove they were worthy, not just once, but continuously. She always thought anything you get for free, you'll take for granted. It's why she never answered questions directly, only in riddles."

"You mean, she thought if you had to work to get your answer, you'd be more likely to remember it than if she just gave it to you?"

"That's right," Luna beamed at him.

"Wait a second, how do you know so much about her?"

Luna only smiled a mysterious smile and said, "Did you know that Panbusccis can resurrect themselves, but only if they're in the presence of Irkloids?"

Harry decided that was as much of an answer as he was going to get, sighed, thanked Luna, and headed down to catch the tail end of dinner.

Strange girl, that Luna.

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Arietta had continued to grow quickly, and was now about the size of Harry's leg. Like any youngling, she loved playing games. Harry still hadn't quite gotten over the oddity of playing fetch with a snake, but since it undoubtedly made her happy, he would keep doing it. It was amazing how fond he was of the young snake, especially given what had happened with her predecessor. But he couldn't help himself. She was just too...adorable. He'd really started to like Nagini in the week he'd spent with Tom, too. Maybe he'd have to get himself his own serpentine familiar someday. But not yet. It would look extremely suspicious if he were to do it now, and suspicion was something he couldn't afford.

Anyway, he hadn't come down to the Chamber just to play with Arietta, although that was certainly a plus. He needed to talk to Salazar. "Hey Sal," he called out.

The spirit of the founder appeared in front of him. "Good evening, Harry."

"Good evening. I can't believe how fast Arietta's growing. Or how beautiful she is."

Salazar smiled fondly at his pet. "She certainly is amazing. Perhaps you did not know, but I did not hatch her predecessor, and so he was never truly bonded to me. It makes quite the difference."

Harry echoed Salazar's smile, though a bit sadly. "I'm glad I could make it up to you, at least in part. Anyway, I had a question I needed to ask you."

"Ask and ye shall receive, lion cub."

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed. "I thought you agreed to stop calling me that!"

"I did," Salazar smirked, "when you had something to hold over my head. You lost that hold. Find something else to bargain with, and make your bargain more carefully next time."

Harry grumbled. "Fine, whatever. Anyway, back to my question-"

"Yes, lion cub?" Salazar interrupted with a wry grin.

"What does it mean if Godric refuses to give me his permission and blessing to marry Tom?"

The grin was immediately wiped off Salazar's face. "Did he?"

"Conditionally."

Salazar decided to answer Harry's question before finding out the rest of the details. "I assume he magically accepted you as the family's heir?"

"Yes," Harry answered.

"Then it means that, as he is your Patriarch, no magically-binding wedding can take place without his permission. Any attempted binding ritual will fail."

Harry sighed. "That's pretty much what I figured."

"Can you meet his conditions?"

"There's only one, but...I honestly don't know." Harry's head hung between his hands.

Arietta, sensing his sadness, slithered over to him and climbed up in his lap, draping herself over him comfortingly.

"Well, out with it already," Salazar said gently.

"I have to prove to him that Tom loves me."

Salazar stared blankly. "I can see how that might cause difficulty," he said finally. "You might not realize this, but it was actually a common test put before potential bridegrooms in Godric's day."

"How did people do it back then?"

"The most common way was to take a truth potion and declare the feelings of love while under its influence. But there was also allowing the use of Legilimency, saving the bride's life at the risk of your own, and let's not forget the classic 'donation' of a large sum of money to her family."

"I'm pretty sure Tom wouldn't be willing to do any of the first three, even if I could get him and Godric in the same place.. And I don't think Godric would accept the last."

"You may be right about that."

Harry sighed. Arietta reached her head up, and tickled his ear with her tongue. §"Don't be sad, silly nestmate! Ari loves you! No more problem!"§

It wasn't quite true. There was still a huge problem. But as he cuddled the baby snake, he couldn't help but feel that somehow, everything would work out.

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I've decided that it's only fair for my reviewers to get to decide which charitable organization should receive the money donated in their name when they leave a review. So when you review, please let me know whether you prefer Take Initiative To Study or Association for the Salvation of Serpents. Thanks!


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The day of the next Hogsmeade trip dawned bright and clear. The students of Hogwarts chattered in eager anticipation, and Harry, both nervous and excited for what was to come, was having a great deal of difficulty blending in with the cheerful and carefree crowd. He glanced up at the head table to see Dumbledore nonchalantly munching on a kipper. It was strange to think that tomorrow, that seat would be empty.

Breakfast continued as usual, and it was almost over when Harry heard two high-pitched shrieks. For a moment, he thought the attack had already started. Then he realized that was ridiculous; Tom couldn't have entered anywhere but the Chamber without alerting Dumbledore, and none of the Death Eaters could enter Hogwarts at all. No, this shrieking had come from Gryffindor's resident overly-excitable gossips, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, and it was not caused by a magical attack. The shrieking was directed at Hermione, and while Harry had no idea what could have caused it, he didn't have to wait long to find out.

"OH MY GODRIC!" yelled one of the two girls. "Hermione, do you know what that is?" Lavender pointed to an ornate golden box that the girl in question was removing from the leg of an unfamiliar owl. The box had something written on it in fancy lettering, but Harry couldn't quite read it, since the box was emitting a sheen of sparkling silver dust.

Parvati, not waiting for Hermione to answer, screamed "It's from Ophelia's Ornaments!"

Hermione, not understanding what the big deal was, asked "What's Ophelia's Ornaments?" Harry thought this was a perfectly reasonable question, since he didn't have any idea either, although the name sounded familiar for some reason.

Lavender, Parvati, and several other girls who had been drawn into the conversation by all the shrieking, including, to Harry's surprise, Ginny Weasley, looked shocked.

"How could you not know Ophelia's?" a blond first year girl finally got out.

"They're the premier jewelers of wizard Britain! They did the wedding rings for Mr. and Mrs. Fudge, and the Malfoys, and oh! I think Harry's mum and dad, and really everybody who can afford it goes to them. Of course, that isn't really very many people. Bill got Fleur a pendant from there for her birthday-just a pendant, and a small one, not even the necklace to go with it-and it cost him almost 750 Galleons!" Ginny exclaimed.

The other girls nodded solemnly, and Hermione blinked, taken aback. Harry had been using the moment of distraction to cast the spells that would find any nasty surprises hidden in the box, and found nothing.

"All right, so some bloke must really like you," Ron said, a bit grumpily. "And he wouldn't have spent all that money just for you to stare at the box. Open it already!"

Although the girls were a bit irritated at the bluntness of the statement, they were more excited to see what was inside. Hermione herself, though, had the same thoughts as Harry, and was hesitant. She caught his eye, and he smiled and nodded at her slightly, and mouthed "safe."

(Across the room, the sender of the gift, watching intently, did not miss this little gesture. He sighed, annoyed that the object of his affections still trusted Potter over him. Of course, he couldn't be too angry, since anyone who did wish the girl harm could easily have sent her a trapped present, hoping her suspicions would be lulled. He admired a girl who could keep her head enough to be cautious, even when receiving a very expensive gift.)

Hermione opened the box and pushed aside the tissue paper inside to reveal a set of four jewelled hairpins. The pins themselves were made of gold, with a beautiful ruby and diamond design at the end of each. As she lifted one gently out of the box so that everyone could admire it, she noticed a small brochure. "Stone-Swapping Self-Styling hairpins" it read on the cover. Hermione opened the little booklet and read aloud:

"_Congratulations on your purchase of the Ophelia's Ornaments stone-swapping and self-styling hairpins! These are the only hair ornaments you will ever need. These hairpins can change the color of their gemstones to suit any outfit. To change the gemstone, simply tap it with your wand and say which stone you would like. For the witch who might need a bit of help with color-coordination now and again, or simply can't make up her mind, put on whatever you will wear with these hairpins, tap the gemstone with your wand, and say 'match my outfit.' The gemstones will automatically become the perfect accessory for your ensemble!_

_These hairpins are also self-styling! To use this feature, place one of the pins in your hair, select which style you would like, and say '(style name) presto!' These pins can create anything from a casual ponytail to a complicated formal updo! (A complete list of all the 200 hairstyles these pins can accomplish is included.)_"

While the boys at the table had mostly lost interest during the lengthy description, the girls had only gotten more and more excited with each sentence. "Try it!" squealed Padma, who had run over from the Ravenclaw table when the excitement began.

"Yeah, try it, I want to see!" echoed the other girls.

Hermione set the pin she had been holding back down in the box, touched her wand to one of the rubies, and said "sapphire." Instantly, the gemstones on all four pins changed from a brilliant red to a deep blue. Everyone oohed and ahhed. Hermione picked one of the pins up, set it gently in her hair, and took a look at the list of possible hairstyles. "Down, straight" she said. It had taken her two hours and copious amounts of hair potion the last time she'd attempted to do that, so it seemed like a fitting test of the pins' abilities. There was a short glimmer, and then almost instantly, her hair was sleek, smooth, and perfectly straight, with two pins forming an 'x' on each side of her head. Harry had to admit that it was impressive magic, and ducked out to finish getting ready for Hogsmeade while the girls demanded more demonstrations.

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Harry wondered about the town of Hogsmeade somewhat aimlessly. It was 11:00 a.m., and he'd been told to expect the attack at 11:30. Since he knew he was going to be attacked, he didn't see the point in making any purchases, as they'd just get lost, and besides, he'd be easier to attack and there would be less collateral damage if he was attacked outside. Although, as he passed Madam Pudifoot's, he did consider waiting the attack out there. He certainly wouldn't mind the destruction of that building.

Sighing, he decided that he didn't really have any good reason to hate the place that much, and he continued his wandering, taking a path that would lead him to the edge of town. It would be better to be out of the crush of students. Harry knew the Death Eaters had orders not to cause any permanent harm to any of the other students or townspeople, but some of them could be a bit...enthusiastic...at times. Better not to tempt them.

He had just made it to the very edge of the town, and was completely alone, when he knew the attack was about to begin. He heard the cracks of multiple people apparating, and if he had to guess, he would say it was about twenty-five. He smiled to himself. Yes, he did intend to let himself get caught, but he was happy that Tom had sent enough people that he could put on a good show in the process. It would be downright embarrassing to have to let himself get caught by only five.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Potter, taking a walk by himself," drawled a voice that was unmistakably that of Lucius Malfoy.

"It's a shame Dumbledore hasn't taught him any better," chimed in a female voice that Harry did not recognize.

"Indeed. I had thought this might be at least a bit of a challenge, but it seems Potter has taken all the fun out of it," Lucius replied. "Oh, the arrogance of today's youth. Alas. _Stupefy_!" he suddenly yelled, pointing his wand in Harry's direction.

It would have been a direct hit, too, if Harry had still been standing in the same place. But while Lucius and the unknown woman had been chatting, Harry had quietly drawn his wand and started backing away. When Lucius fired his shot, Harry had already taken off running.

"You five, follow me and go after him. The rest of you, fan out around the town and surround him!" Harry heard Lucius order as he ran. If he was going to issue any more orders, no one would ever know, since just as he finished saying it, Harry got him right in the chest with a spell that would turn a person temporarily to stone. While the other four were in shock at the loss of their leader, Harry picked off two more, then laughed and took off running again. The remaining two followed, now quite a bit warier.

Timing it carefully, Harry cast an illusion spell of himself running, and released it just as he was putting a large tree in between himself and his pursuers. In the instant that he was hidden by the tree, he released the illusion, Disillusioned himself, and hid next to the tree. The last two members of Lucius' team ran right past him, chasing the illusion. It was almost child's play to take them out.

Harry started running again, making his way into the town center, and began shouting at the top of his lungs. "Death Eaters!" he yelled. "Death Eaters in Hogsmeade!" This had the intended effect of causing a complete panic. Students and townsfolk alike began running every which way. They mostly just kept each other from escaping, but he was fairly confident that one or two of them would make it back to the castle to alert Dumbledore.

In all of the confusion, he spotted two more Death Eaters approaching. One of them yelled "Hey Potter!" and shot a badly-aimed spell at him. For a moment, he wondered why Tom had sent someone so poorly trained on such an important mission. And then he realized it was a trap.

He threw himself to the ground, and narrowly avoided the four red spells that went flying over his head from behind him. Quickly, he threw up a defensive bubble that would protect him against the spells from the two Death Eaters in front of him as well as the four behind. It wouldn't stop a killing curse, or a cruciatus, but Harry knew they had orders not to use those.

In the tiny moment of breathing room the shield gave him, Harry considered what to do. He couldn't use any parselmagic, and Dark spells were obviously out, so that took away the better part of his repertoire. Suddenly, he had any idea. Tracing his wand along an imaginary jagged path, he muttered "terrefacio." The earth beneath the four enemies at his rear suddenly split open. When the terrified people fell into the crack, just as suddenly, it closed, encasing them up to their necks.

The spell did cause him to lose his concentration on his shield, however, and he had to dodge to the side quickly as the two that had been in front of him sent spells of an odd mauve color towards him. He returned with two quick incarcerous spells, using the special wrist flick Hermione had taught him that would bind the ropes extra tight and prevent wand use.

He managed to take down another seven of the Death Eaters, and was just starting to wonder if he perhaps needed to tone it down a bit so that the attack did not actually fail, when he heard a voice shout "Potter! Over here!"

He turned in the direction of the voice, and what he saw made him freeze in his tracks. Rabastan Lestrange had Hermione in a tight grasp, his left arm wrapped around her neck and his right arm pointing his wand straight at her head.

"Drop your wand, now, or your Mudblood friend gets it." The man sneered.

Harry had a moment of completely genuine panic. He knew the minions had all been ordered to behave themselves...but this was Hermione. Still, Tom and Salazar had taught him enough that he wouldn't be a total Gryffindor idiot.

"If I do what you ask," he began slowly and cautiously, "how do I know you won't just hurt her anyway?"

Rabastan laughed. "Hey Dolf!" he chortled. "The Gryffindor Golden Boy isn't quite as slow as Snape keeps saying."

Rodolphus Lestrange merely shrugged.

"Anyway, Potter," Rabastan turned back toward Harry, "you're in luck. Today, the Dark Lord only wants you. He told us to keep our hands off everyone else. We wouldn't want them to ruin your special day."

The remaining Death Eaters, who had by this time all gathered around Harry, laughed sadistically.

"Then your boss'll be right pissed if anything happens to her, won't he?" Harry nodded at Hermione. "I hear he can be downright unpleasant when people disobey him."

It wouldn't hurt to remind them all that they couldn't actually hurt anyone else. Some of them were starting to look a bit edgy.

"A clever little lion, this one is!" Rabastan laughed again. "Then I suppose we are, for the moment, at a stalemate." As the Death Eater spoke, Harry could sense someone sneaking up behind him. He decided he should probably just let it happen, and did his best not to flinch as he heard a voice whisper "petrificus totalus" immediately behind him.

"Stalemate over," the same voice called. Harry was relieved to see that Rabastan did indeed let go of Hermione. Some part of him couldn't help but notice that throughout the entire ordeal, Hermione's hairpins had been almost constantly at work, trying to fix the damage caused by her struggle, and the moment she was out of Rabastan's grasp, her hair was perfect again.

His body was carried to the town square, where there was a small stage with no back, so that people could observe events and performances from all sides. He was dragged up onto the stage, and very soon after, heard gasps from the assembled crowd, all of whom had been tied to their chairs by Death Eaters. He felt a tingling in his scar.

Lord Voldemort had arrived.

He was wearing powerful glamours that made him look like his old snakey self. Dark power radiated from him, and those present who had never seen Lord Voldemort before suddenly realized what an imposing man he was.

"Rabastan, has our dear guest been given his potion yet?" the Dark Lord asked smoothly, in a quiet voice that nonetheless carried to all the assembled.

"No, my Lord," the selected Death Eater replied.

"Well, then, please see to it. Though we are still awaiting the arrival of one more guest, it would be polite to have all of the preparations in place."

Rabastan approached with a shining orange potion in a small vial. He forced Harry's mouth open and poured the potion in, and Harry, tied to a chair, had no choice but to swallow, though he made a good showing of resistance.

A few minutes later, he could tell _something_ was different, but he certainly wasn't at all numb. The heat of the sun shone on his face. The chair was not padded and was starting to dig into his bottom. The rope was too tight in a few places, and he could feel it chafe his skin. A panic started to rise in his mind.

Lord Voldemort stood right in front of him, unbound him, and Vanished the chair.

§"Well, well, well, Harry, darling. Fancy meeting you here,§" the Dark Lord hissed.

Harry, unable to respond aloud, simply looked desperately into Tom's eyes.

§"My dear serpent, I have something I must tell you. Undoubtedly, you are feeling quite confused. The potion you were just given was not, in fact, a numbing potion. It was an antidote."§

Harry was utterly stunned, but finally managed to find his voice. §"An antidote...to what?"§ he said slowly, hissing to keep the conversation private.

§"The erodition one of your silly classmates managed to slip you last September."§ The Dark Lord chuckled gleefully. §"Sadly for her, it turned out that _I_ was the first one you laid eyes on after taking the dose. And now, this charade is finally at an end. I shall enjoy your torment, _my little serpent_. Crucio!"§

No.

No.

No!

The single word consumed all of Harry's being. This had all been an act? Tom had never cared for him? Oh, dear Godric, what had he done? How could he have fallen for it? No, it couldn't be! Tom cared for him, Harry knew it! The sheer agony of his mind completely overwhelmed any pain in his body, though it continued to jerk and writhe under the curse.

Just when Harry thought he could not feel any worse, he heard a voice call out "Stop."

It was powerful. It was angry. It was afraid. It was Dumbledore.

Lord Voldemort merely yawned, not lifting the curse. "Tell me, Albus, why should I? This boy has caused me a great deal of trouble. I simply intend to get some of my own back before I remove him."

Dumbledore continued approaching. "Please, Tom. You must stop this."

Lord Voldemort gave the curse a temporary pause. "I suppose I might be persuaded to let the boy go...for a price, of course." Then he resumed the curse, and Harry, through the turmoil of his mind, felt his body began to writhe helplessly once more.

Dumbledore ascended the stairs to stand on the stage next to Harry. Softly, but firmly, he replied, "I am willing to give you what you want, Tom. Swear on your magic that you will never harm Harry and I will surrender myself to you."

Lord Voldemort laughed. "A nice try, Albus, but you and I both know that I cannot swear to forever stay my hand. I present a counter-offer: I shall swear on my magic not to harm Harry for the rest of the day."

Harry, through the curse, attempted to stop this, to yell no, that he was a traitor, and he wasn't worth this. But all he could get out was a soft moan.

Dumbledore looked down at Harry, tears coming softly from his blue eyes. "I would greatly appreciate it if the negotiations could continue without the torture," he said quietly, but firmly.

For a moment, the curse stopped. Then Lord Voldemort resumed it. "I think not, Albus. It seems to be giving me a decided advantage."

"As you will, then. However, I would ask for one more additional term: you must swear that you will not harm Harry for the rest of the day and that you will personally return him to the gates of Hogwarts before the end of the day."

Lord Voldemort considered for a moment. The he nodded. "Your surrender, which includes dropping your wand and agreeing not to attempt to fight in any way, in exchange for Harry's safe return to the castle today. We have a deal." He lifted the curse, but bound Harry's tongue. "Let us swear our oaths-you first, please."

Dumbledore slowly and steadily raised his wand. In a loud voice, he proclaimed, "I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, hereby swear upon my magic that if Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, swears upon his magic not to harm Harry James Potter for the rest of this day, and to return Harry James Potter to the gates of Hogwarts Castle before the end of this day, that I shall drop my wand and surrender myself to Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort. I will allow him to do whatever he chooses and I will not fight him in any way. So mote it be."

There was a white flash, and Harry knew the vow had been accepted.

Lord Voldemort took his turn. "I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, hereby swear upon my magic that I shall not harm Harry James Potter for the rest of this day. I further swear that I shall return Harry James Potter to the gates of Hogwarts castle before this day is over. So mote it be."

With that, Harry found himself being pushed off of the stage, whether it was by Voldemort or Dumbledore, or someone else entirely, he would never know.

Dumbledore dropped his wand and stood calmly in front of Lord Voldemort.

"Any last words?" the Dark Lord sneered.

Dumbledore looked down at Harry. His blue eyes twinkled with tears, both shed and unshed. He thought about the brave and caring young man before him, and everything Harry had suffered-some of it at his own hands. He even thought of another little black haired boy, who had suffered equally, and who he had done nothing to help. In that moment, although it would doom the world, he knew he had to do whatever he could to save Harry.

"Yes," he replied, for all the world as calm as if the two men were merely chatting over tea.

"Well then?" Voldemort snarled, when no more words were forthcoming.

"It would be to both of our benefits, Tom, if these words were kept between the two of us."

Sighing, Lord Voldemort grudgingly placed a silencing ward around the two of them. If he felt the information wasn't worth keeping a secret, he could always share it later. When the two wizards were encased, and could not be heard by anyone else, he nodded, and Dumbledore began.

"Have you never wondered at the connection between yourself and Harry? How it is that he can sense your emotions, see through your eyes, and knows when you are present? How it is that he can speak Parseltongue, a gift that should only be available to you?"

"Of course, but I have never come up with a proper solution. Please, Professor, enlighten me." Tom bit out sarcastically.

"There's no need for attitude, Tom," Dumbledore replied. His serenity, even in the face of his own imminent death, was really starting to get on Tom's nerves. "I do have the answer, and I have decided that I shall give it to you with the last words I will ever speak." He paused, swallowed, and then looked straight into Tom's eyes. "Harry Potter is your Horcrux."

Lord Voldemort gasped, and was grateful for the silencing ward. No one should ever witness Lord Voldemort being surprised. He shoved the information away to be processed later, took down the silencing ward, and cast "Avada Kedavra."

The body of Albus Dumbledore fell, slowly and almost gracefully. The Death Eaters apparated away. Lord Voldemort could not look at Harry Potter at that moment. Instead, he sent a spell at the boy to force him into his animagus form. Potter was still too numb to dodge or resist. He conjured a leash and collar, placed it around Potter's neck, and walked the unresisting panther right up to the castle gates. Then he apparated away.


	26. Chapter 26

Hey everyone! Thanks again to everyone who is still reading this story, especially those who've reviewed encouraging me to update. Here's a nice long chapter-Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Yule/Festivus/any other winter seasonal holiday!

Chapter 26

"Harry is your Horcrux."

It couldn't be.

"Harry is your Horcux." The soft words echoed again through his ears.

It wasn't possible!

"Harry _is_ your Horcrux." The words sounded almost insistent now.

The words hadn't been intended for him. He hadn't heard any of what went on in the shielded conversation between the two strongest wizards of the age. But those words—the last words Dumbledore would ever speak—had struck T—no, Lord Voldemort, with such a blow that they echoed down the link. The link between the two of them that suddenly was all too understandable.

It all made sense now. Why Dumbledore had wanted Harry to grow up alone and friendless. Why he was never supposed to become too powerful. Why he was never encouraged to study harder. Why he was subtly encouraged into life threatening situations. It hadn't been such an innocuous explanation as Dumbledore not wanting a second Dark Lord. Dumbledore knew, and had known all along, that Voldemort could not die unless Harry did, and had raised him like a lamb for the slaughter. He wanted Harry to grow used to thinking of other people's lives as more important than his, so that when the time came, he would give his life willingly. Or, at the very least, be completely unable to defend himself.

Or so it seemed. Until the last minute. When Dumbledore changed his mind. When he spoke the words that would doom the entire wizarding world, but would save Harry. Why?

It must have been out of…well, love. The power that Dumbledore trusted in above all else, the force that was supposed to save the world. And this was the power that would now destroy it. This was the reason for which Harry himself had committed so many wrongs. And he knew, and could still almost feel, how much more he would have done. He knew, deep within his soul, that there was nothing he wouldn't have done just to see those red eyes gleaming at him with approval.

And as he reflected back on all of the things he had done, the worst part was, while he was utterly horrified, part of him still remembered how much he had enjoyed them. He could still feel the euphoria induced from each casting of the cruciatus curse. He could still feel the glorious sense of vengeance and vilification from the looks on the Dursleys' faces as he ended their lives. He hadn't just done those things for Lord Voldemort. He'd done them for himself. And now he was horrified, but it wasn't an actual reaction to what he had done. He was horrified because he knew he was supposed to be horrified, and horrified that he wasn't actually horrified.

Lord Voldemort hadn't corrupted Harry. He'd just removed the gilding on the surface to show the tarnish and rot underneath.

He wasn't worthy of Dumbledore's sacrifice. He wasn't worthy of Dumbledore's love. Yet he'd had it.

He might have been worthy of Tom's love. Their blackened souls certainly seemed to match well enough. But that, he could never have. It didn't exist. Tom was only a figment of his imagination; a character on a stage. Lord Voldemort was the man who truly existed, and Lord Voldemort did not love.

Harry hadn't changed out of his animagus form yet. In fact, he was hiding on the grounds. While his animagus form had unfortunately been revealed to all and sundry, a panther was designed to blend in within the colors of a forest, and in all the confusion, no one had been waiting for him at the gates of the castle. Blindly following some instinctual drive, he had run into the Forbidden Forest and up the branches of a large tree a good distance within its confines. Now that he let himself think about it, he decided he wasn't ready to change that yet. In this form, the tree was quite comfortable, and it would be very difficult for anyone to find him. That was all to the good, since he certainly wasn't ready to talk to anyone just yet.

"Homenum revelio!" shouted a familiar voice. Harry felt his body shifting and twisting back into its usual shape. That shape was not as used to sitting in trees, and he promptly fell off the branch and landed on the ground with a hard "oomph!" as the breath was knocked out of him.

When he got his breath back, he looked up to find Hermione looking down at him, smiling sadly. "Come on, Harry," she said. "You need to go back to the castle and see Madame Pomphrey."

"How did you find me?" Harry blurted out in response. It wasn't the most intelligent thing he could have said, but honestly, he thought he would be safely hidden at least overnight, and he hadn't put his thoughts together enough for any sort of intelligent conversation.

Hermione pulled a piece of parchment out of her pocket, obviously expecting that it would answer Harry's question. But Harry couldn't think at all, and didn't understand how some old parchment could have shown her where to find him, and he said as much.

Hermione's face grew concerned as she explained "It's the Marauder's Map, of course. Harry, are you feeling all right? Did you hit your head when you fell out of the tree? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Oh. The Marauder's Map. He knew what that was. Hermione and Ron had long standing permission to go into his trunk and get the Map, or his cloak, if they had need of it. Idly, he wondered if there was any way to hide one's presence from the magical artefact.

"It was my fault, you know." He heard himself blurt out. His feet had somehow started taking him back towards the castle. That was interesting. He didn't remember telling them to do that.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed. "I know it probably feels like that now, but it honestly wasn't. You put up a brilliant fight. There were twenty-five Death Eaters there that day, and you took out twelve of them. One of you, twenty-five of them! You were overwhelmingly outnumbered, and you still beat almost half of them! And you might have even defeated them all if it wasn't for…well, me." She bit her lip and swallowed heavily.

Harry, still in that zone where his brain wasn't in conscious control of what was coming out of his mouth, didn't immediately try to reassure his friend. Instead, what came out was, "No, you don't understand. It's my fault. I let myself get caught! I heard the one coming up behind me, and I didn't do anything about it! On purpose! I just let him do it!"

At exactly that moment, his brain caught up with his mouth, and he realized exactly what he'd been saying. For an instant, he panicked at what he had just revealed. But that soon left him. He deserved to be caught out. He almost hoped he'd get the Kiss. Mere life in Azkaban was too good for him.

But Hermione didn't comprehend what he was saying. "Harry, listen," she said. "If you're going to say it's your fault because you didn't win a fight against twenty-five of Voldemort's best followers, then it's just as much my fault as it is yours. After all, I got caught, too, and you might actually have won if I hadn't distracted you. And if you got too wrapped up in protecting me to save yourself…well, I, at least, can hardly blame you."

He briefly contemplated explaining exactly what he meant, what he had done and why he had done it. Hermione was his best friend, but her sense of justice would still see that he got the punishment he deserved.

Then he realized that he couldn't do that. If he was revealed as a traitor, Dumbledore's sacrifice would be for nothing. Worse than nothing, really. Dumbledore couldn't have died to protect someone as awful as he really was. He would have to pretend to be the shining pillar of the light that everyone thought he was.

He stopped walking and gathered Hermione into a hug. "This wasn't your fault, either," he whispered into her ear. "Never think that for an instant. I know you fought as hard as you could, but that was Rabastan Lestrange. One of the most feared Death Eaters ever. He's personally taken out entire squadrons of aurors by himself. And he wasn't alone. You did the best you could, and no one could have asked any more of you."

Whether it was the hug or the words, he would never know, but one of those actions, or perhaps both in concert, utterly shattered Hermione's calm façade, and she burst into heaving sobs. Seeing Hermione cry opened the floodgates for Harry, and they held each other as they cried out their mutual guilt, shame, and despair.

After some time had passed that way, another voice gently interrupted them. "Potter, Granger, it's time to come in now," said McGonagall's thick Scottish brogue. "Madame Pomfrey is waiting for you. Potter, you need a post-Cruciatus potion. I'm sure you must be aching all over by now. Miss Granger, you should be checked over as well."

Harry remembered all too well his last encounter with the Cruciatus, and the powerful, deep-seated aches that had been left in his body. Strangely, they hadn't seemed to kick in just yet. But it was probably still just the shock. He allowed himself to be led up to the hospital wing, dressed in the itchy pajamas, and given a post-Crucio potion and another for Dreamless Sleep.

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The day of Dumbledore's funeral dawned bright and cheery. The sun blazed in the mid-May sky, creating a balmy early summer day. At first, Harry was offended that nature would choose to ignore the loss they had all suffered. But he then realized that if Albus Dumbledore could have chosen the weather for the day of his funeral, this would likely have been it. The sun twinkled down at them just like Dumbledore's eyes.

Harry hadn't wanted to attend the funeral at all. He didn't think it was generally considered good form to attend someone's funeral when you had participated in their death, and it could only serve as a reminder of his already oppressive guilt. But no one could ever know that. He wouldn't cheapen the man's sacrifice in that way. Besides, despite all the differences they had, Dumbledore had done his best by Harry in the end. He owed it to the man to attend, and to suffer through it.

As the eulogies were spoken, and multiple references to Dumbledore's dedication to the fight against evil were made, Harry found himself wondering if there would ever be anything he could do to make up for what he had done.

The answer came to him almost immediately. He had to die. Not only because death was an appropriate sentence for his actions, but because his death would help to cleanse the world of Lord Voldemort's evil. As the service continued, his resolve hardened. He would spend the next day saying cautious goodbyes to his friends, and take his own life the following evening. It was the only way he could atone for what he had done.

He decided to speak to Ron first, mainly because Ron was the least likely to realize what was actually going on and try to put a stop to it. Hermione he would save for last, and phrase his goodbye most carefully.

He managed to get Ron alone without making it obvious that he was trying to do so. "It's a nice day, isn't it?" he commented.

"Sure is. Perfect Quidditch weather," Ron replied. That gave Harry the perfect idea for how to say his goodbye.

"You're right, it is," he answered. "How about we go down to the pitch and pass the quaffle around for a while? You can use my Firebolt."

As expected, Ron grinned excitedly at the suggestion, and the two were quickly off. After they'd spent a couple of hours in the bright sunshine, Harry called it off. As the two walked back to the castle, Harry looked into Ron's eyes and said "You know, Ron, I don't think I've ever thanked you."

"For what?"

"Being my friend. I know it hasn't always been easy. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it."

Ron looked bewildered at this sudden output of emotion, which was generally prohibited between male best mates. Then he decided it must just be a gay thing, and made a joke suggesting exactly that. Harry laughed, and they finished their walk back to the castle sharing good-natured jokes.

Next on his list was Ginny. That conversation he kept fairly short. Ginny didn't know him as well as Hermione, but she could be incredibly perceptive on occasion.

Finally, it was time to say his goodbyes to Hermione. He smiled at her from across the room, noting that today she had used her hairpins to pull her brunette locks into an elegant French twist. Idly, he wondered again who had sent them. It would be nice if he could have a chat with that person before he went, to make sure they would treat Hermione right.

Realization smacked him like a bludger. The hairpins came from Ophelia's Ornaments. He had seen a Slytherin in their year sending off an order form to that exact establishment a few days before the pins had arrived. Given what the girls had said about the expensiveness of the store, it was unlikely that this was a coincidence. Looking back, he realized that this was one Slytherin who had never offered an unkind word to Hermione, or any of the other muggleborns in school. What was the bloke's name? Zabini, that was it. With an odd first name, that started with a B.

Harry quickly checked the Marauder's Map, and found that Blaise Zabini was currently, and conveniently, alone in the library. He practically ran over to catch the boy before he missed the opportunity. Spotting him at a table near the back, Harry approached.

"Zabini," he said quietly, but firmly. "A word, if you please?"

The Slytherin in question glanced up from his book, then did a double take upon seeing who had made the request.

"What could we possibly have to discuss, Potter?" he replied, with a sneer that he hoped would conceal his fear.

Judging by the look on Potter's face, it didn't work. "I think you know," Harry snarled back.

Blaise grudgingly gathered up his things and followed Harry to an empty classroom. When they entered, and had both cast several privacy charms, Blaise sat down in a slump.

"She figured it out, right?" he said. "And she sent you to tell me to back off?"

Harry blinked. He hadn't been expecting that conclusion. "No, actually. I figured it out. I haven't said anything to her. I might continue to not say anything to her. It depends on what you tell me in the next ten minutes or so."

Blaise felt hope gush back into his chest. She wasn't rejecting him! And Potter wasn't rejecting him either—at least not immediately. "What do you want to know?"

"Mainly, what your intentions are. Why you've insisted on the secrecy."

Blaise gulped. His intentions were pure, and he truly believed his reasons for secrecy were valid, but would Potter understand? Gryffindors, after all, believed in love conquering all and all that bullshit.

"My intentions are simple. We have been exchanging letters along with my sending gifts so that she can get to know me better. I intend to continue doing this until after we graduate. At that point, I will tell her who I am. If she will allow it, I will begin officially Courting her. If all goes well, we will wed."

"That's pretty serious."

"I am never anything less." Blaise answered soberly.

"Then why all the secrecy?" Harry demanded.

"I will be entirely honest. It was partly out of selfishness. I did not know if she would give me a chance, or dismiss me immediately because of the snake badge I wear. I also did not know if _you_ would give me a chance to approach her, given that same badge. This way, she may get to know me, the person, before judging me entirely by my house. But it is not entirely that. While I do not care at all for blood prejudices, many in Slytherin do, and were I to make romantic gestures towards her openly, my House would retaliate. I do not care that they would attack me—I would feel it worth it. But it is her that they would go after, for they would know that to be the way to pull me from her side. I would not risk her safety in such a manner."

"Do you love her?"

"It is hard to say, as we have only communicated through letters. What I know of her, I love, and I have observed her carefully all through our Hogwarts years."

"Do you have any intention to hurt her?" Harry stared straight into Blaise's eyes, and decided to risk a slightly Dark compulsion spell. "Tell the truth," he commanded with the force of the spell.

Blaise's eyes widened, obviously recognizing the magic for what it was. "Never," he whispered fiercely. "Even if things do not work out between us, I will never wish her ill."

Harry relaxed, and smiled. "Then I wish you all the best," he said, clapping Blaise on the shoulder. As he went to leave the room, he looked over his shoulder. "Oh, and Blaise?" he added. When the other boy looked at him questioningly, he finished, "Take good care of her." With that, he left the room, to have his last—and most difficult—conversation of the day.

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"Harry is your Horcrux."

He felt the knowledge echo down the link he shared with the keeper of his soul, felt the other's shock, and felt the link reflexively close down.

"Harry is your Horcrux."

The words would not cease echoing in his mind.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have not realized what had happened? It was all so obvious, looking at it in hindsight. Harry's ability to speak Parseltongue. The mysterious link between them. How his possession of Harry in the Ministry of Magic had changed the link because of the brief reunion of two pieces of his soul. He was supposed to be a magical genius. How could he have failed to see what was right in front of him?

Sighing, he supposed the real question now was what he was going to do about the situation. He had to get Harry back into his possession as soon as possible.

Would it be possible to save the situation? Perhaps he could convince Harry that he hadn't actually meant it; that it had all been an act, simply to ensure that Dumbledore would fall for it. That really would be ideal. They could complete the ritual, which would grant them both increased power, and ensure that Harry could never stray from his side. And he could have Harry back at his side on the battlefield, and back in his bed at night.

It might not work. It probably wouldn't. Harry would probably hate Tom for everything he had done. It was really too bad that Harry had "overheard" the knowledge that he was a Horcrux. Now that Harry knew, he would be even more suspicious of Tom's motives.

Suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to him. Harry knew about the Horcrux. Harry had just had his universe turned upside down. Harry was undoubtedly in a state of total despair. And Harry had just regained his motivation to do anything in his power to destroy Lord Voldemort.

He wouldn't.

Tom almost smacked himself, and would have if it wasn't such uncouth behavior. Of course he would. Despite Tom's best efforts, he was still a Gryffindor. In a panic, he reached across their link. He couldn't get much—Harry was undoubtedly blocking it—but it was enough to reassure him that Harry was still alive.

That could change at any moment.

In the next instant, he was apparating into Hogsmeade, shifting into his animagus form, and pelting toward the castle at full speed.

He arrived at the Chamber and shifted back, and, still panting, yelled, "Salazar!"

The spirit appeared before him. "Tom?" he said, surprise evident in his voice. "What brings you here?"

"Stop wasting my time with pleasantries! Harry is in danger, and I cannot reach him while he is within the castle!" he shouted.

"Danger?" Salazar frowned. "What do you mean? Who threatens him?"

"He threatens himself!" Tom yelled back. "Now stop wasting my time and alert the castle! Harry must be protected!"

Explanations would be coming, but any Slytherin knew that they could wait when action was needed, and Salazar _was_ the original Slytherin. "§Arietta,§" Salazar hissed.

"§Yes, mummy?§" the snake, now the length of a good sized car, replied.

"§Your nest mate is in danger. Go quickly, spread the word to all the serpents in and around the castle. Find him and protect him!§"

"§Nest mate!§" she yelled, and slithered away like lightning.

Next, Salazar sent out a call for Rowena. Unlike the others, she could actually move about the castle, and would be best able to act.

A young blond woman drifted into the Chamber. "Salazar, why would you call me now?" she intoned softly. "Don't you know there is a young Phoenix who must not be allowed to burn himself this evening?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Salazar could not help but smile grimly. "I should have known you would already be aware of the situation, Rowena. By all means, go, and guard our young Phoenix."

But the young woman had drifted away before he even finished speaking.

"Now that that is settled," Salazar drawled, turning his attention back to his descendant. "Tell me why you believe that Harry Potter is in imminent danger of killing himself. I suspect it has much to do with the sudden demise of Albus Dumbledore, and I suspect that you also play a role."

Tom frowned. He would not be commanded by anyone, not even his ultimate ancestor.

Then he remembered the danger. Harry might very well seek out Salazar, and if Salazar was to have a chance of persuading Harry not to take his own life, he would need to know the full story. Conjuring a chair for himself, he began to tell the tale…

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Harry walked through the grounds of Hogwarts, enjoying the peaceful night air. If any night had to be his last on earth, this one was a lovely one for it.

He decided it would look better if it appeared that he had not committed suicide, but had instead been killed. No one would want him to waste Dumbledore's sacrifice, after all. So his plan was to find an extremely venomous snake and ask it to bite him. People would likely assume that the snake had killed him on Lord Voldemort's orders.

He walked through the forest for a while before he spotted a serpent.

"§Good evening,§" he hissed at it.

"§A lovely evening it is, Master,§" the serpent replied.

"§You are a beautiful snake,§" Harry told it. "§Are you, by chance, venomous§?"

"§Extremely so, Master,§" it answered. "§My bite will kill a man within two minutes.§"

"§Excellent§," Harry whispered. "§Then I have a task for you.§"

"§A task?§" it hissed excitedly. It liked biting annoying humans.

"§Yes. I order you to bite me.§" Harry managed to make the sentence come out calm and firm.

The snake reared back, and Harry thought it was preparing to strike. Then he heard its horrified gasp.

"§Bite Master? No! I was following Master to protect him! All snakes have been ordered to do so. We will not hurt Master!§"

Harry sighed. He should have realized Voldemort would have already taken action to protect his Horcrux. That plan obviously wasn't going to work.

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Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were sitting around the fire in the Gryffindor common room, attempting to work on their homework. It wasn't going very well. It was just so hard to concentrate on essays after all that had happened, but apparently McGonagall, as acting Headmistress, had decided that a return to schoolwork would be just what the late Headmaster wanted, and would keep their minds off their grief.

"Does anyone know the counter to the terrefacio spell?" Ginny asked the group.

Hermione sighed. "Harry would know. He just used that spell, you know…the other day."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Ron broke it. "Where is Harry, anyway? I haven't seen him since this morning."

Ginny chimed in again, "I don't know. I saw him early this afternoon, and we had the oddest conversation."

Hermione looked up at her. "Really? We had sort of an odd conversation today too. What did you talk about?"

"He told me that he was happy I was his friend, and that he enjoyed spending time with me."

Ron, who had gone back to his attempt at an essay, looked up. "He said something like that to me today, too." He frowned, wondering what that could mean.

Hermione suddenly went ghostly white. "He wouldn't…" she said slowly. "Would he?" she looked over at Ginny.

Ginny suddenly understood what Hermione was implying. As one, the two witches sprang up from the couch and bolted towards the boy's dormitory, and a still-confused Ron hurried along behind them.

They got to the sixth-year boys room quickly, and Hermione started throwing things out of Harry's trunk.

She got to the bottom rather quickly, but unfortunately, it didn't help. The Map was gone.

"Hermione, Ginny, what's going on?" Ron yelled. "Why are you tearing through Harry's things like madwomen?"

"Harry blames himself for what happened to Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said.

"And he had private conversations with each of us today, in which he basically told us goodbye," Ginny added.

Ron gasped, finally getting what they were implying. "But Harry wouldn't do something like that!...Would he?"

Hermione's face set into a mask of grim determination. "We'll make sure he doesn't. We don't have the map, so we're just going to have to search the hard way. Ron, you take the fifth through seventh floors, Ginny, you take floors one through four, and I'll search the grounds."

They split up and began their search, praying they would find their friend on time.

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As Harry returned from the Hogwarts grounds under the protection of his invisibility cloak, he saw Hermione running outside like the devil was behind her, frantically screaming his name.

So she'd figured out what he was planning to do. And she'd probably told other people to help search for him. He'd have to be careful to keep his cloak on, and he'd need to get it over with quickly, before anybody found him.

He headed first to the house elves' laundry room. His new plan involved a scrap of Slytherin robes. He would throw himself off the Astronomy Tower, clutching that piece of robe, and hopefully it would look like he had grabbed the cloth in a struggle with an assailant who pushed him off the tower.

He got to the top of the tower, and put one foot on the edge of the window, when he heard a voice say, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You'd leave an awfully big mess, and it would take months to clear out the resulting infestation of whilli-roos.

He turned around slowly, and was not surprised to find Luna Lovegood staring at him.

"Luna, please, you don't need to see this," he pleaded.

"See what?" she said pleasantly, as if they were discussing what film to take in that evening. "The nargles tell me that nothing interesting will happen here tonight."

"Luna, I have to do this," he tried again. "I can't explain why, but please, just trust me, it has to be done."

"Oh, I know why," she said, still just as calm. "You have a lackkissol attached to you, and you think this is the only way to be rid of it. You're probably right, but is it really so bothersome that death is better than its company?"

"Luna, I don't want to do this with you here, but I will do it, one way or the other," he warned.

"No, Harry, I don't think you will," she said simply, still smiling.

"I'm sorry, Luna. I tried to warn you. I'm going now. Please don't look down after me." With that, Harry stepped up onto the window ledge. He drew in his breath, steeled his resolve, and leaned slowly forward until he felt his feet slip.

Only to find himself thrown right back into the tower.

"I told you you wouldn't," Luna said.

Harry gaped.

"Helga told you the magic of Hogwarts is strong, especially for a child of Her blood. She won't let you harm yourself." She smiled beatifically at him.

Harry stormed out, shoving right past her. So serpents wouldn't bite him, and Hogwarts wouldn't let him harm himself. He'd just have to do it another way.

He gave up on finding a way to do it that would look like it wasn't suicide. He just didn't care anymore. He only wanted to end it.

He walked out onto the grounds, and kept walking until he felt the end of Hogwarts' wards. He took off the invisibility cloak, so that his body would eventually be found.

He grabbed a rock from off of the ground and transfigured it into a sharp steel knife. Maybe sometimes the simple way was the best.

He placed the blade between his wrists, and pressed his wrists together. The blade dug in cruelly.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Horcrux of Lord Voldemort, and the Heir of Gryffindor, lay motionless in the night, as the scarlet blood poured freely from his veins.

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Please don't kill me! I've made a good start on the next chapter, and it should be up within the week!

Remember, for every death threat you make, 1 galleon gets diverted from the Association for the Salvation of Serpents to the Writers Anonymous Nurturing Group to pay for our therapists!


	27. Chapter 27

Whoopsie...anyone who got right on the ball of reading got an accidental look at my notes of what's going to happen next. I'm tired, and I didn't get the right spot when I moved those notes into a new document. Apologies to Aenaed, Pickles and Cream, and anyone else who might have gotten a peek.

The problem has been corrected. :)

Dear Readers,

I do apologize for the delay. An explanation has been posted on my author profile.

I am going to be on a plane headed for Las Vegas in about four hours, where drunken shenanigans will ensue. And I haven't slept at all yet. But I couldn't leave before I got something out. It's not as far as I intended to get, but I hope to have more for you when I return from my debauchery.

Thanks again for all the reviews!

3,

Zhu

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Tom sighed, as much as it was possible for a panther to do so, as he pawed his way out of the Chamber of Secrets and on to Hogwarts grounds. He had done all he could for the evening. The only active agents he had in the castle were Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape—both of whom despised Harry. He didn't trust that they wouldn't help Harry along.

As he reached the edge of the wards, his sensitive feline nose caught a whiff of a coppery scent. He was intimately familiar with this particular scent, in both feline and human forms.

Blood.

Before he could even think about it, he was racing toward the scent, mentally chanting "No, no, no, no, no!"

But when he reached the source of the scent, it was everything he had feared it would be. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, lay cold and still on the ground. Scarlet blood pooled all around him. His chest was unmoving.

Tom found himself back in human form, cradling Harry's limp body, not caring for the blood soaking through his clothes. He pressed on Harry's neck, frantically attempting to find a pulse.

He couldn't.

No! Sweet Salazar, it couldn't be! Harry couldn't be dead, he was the only one who Tom would ever—

And then it came. So faintly that Tom thought he must have imagined it at first. But then there was another one, even fainter than the first.

It was a pulse! Harry was still alive!

In a flash, Tom had his wand out, sealing Harry's wounds shut. But he knew that would only buy a few minutes. Harry had lost a lot of blood, and no spell could cure that. Harry needed a blood replenishing potion, and fast.

What Tom could do with a spell was to put Harry into an almost coma-like sleep. That would preserve his body as it was for at least a half an hour.

Tom knew he didn't have any of the potion at Slytherin Manor, and it took an hour to brew. He didn't have that much time. Hogwarts was the only possible source of help.

He couldn't carry the young man to the castle himself. Hogwarts' alarms would go off, and Harry's medical treatment could easily be delayed in the ensuing panic. Just as he was wondering how he would find someone to come to Harry's aid, he heard a young woman's voice frantically screaming Harry's name. Shifting back into panther form, he ran toward the source of the noise.

Hermione found herself losing hope. She'd been searching for at least an hour, and had not even found a clue. Harry had left Hogwarts, or was under his invisibility cloak. He might even be already—no. She wouldn't let herself think that.

Something cold suddenly ran into her hand. She looked down, and let out an ear-shattering shriek.

The creature at her feet growled at her. She tried to back away slowly.

It ran around her, growled again, and bared its fangs, standing right in the middle of her intended path of retreat.

She knew she could never outrun a panther, but she had to try. She started moving forward.

Shockingly, the panther immediately ceased growling. Instead, it purred at her and rubbed its head against her hand.

She took another step forward, slowly and tentatively. This was met with more purring, and a headbutt to the back of her legs.

She moved forward more quickly now, following the panther who was obviously trying to guide her somewhere. She went as quickly as she could over the rough ground, but from time to time the panther still meowed at her plaintively, as though urging her to move faster.

Eventually, it stopped. At first, Hermione couldn't see anything that would indicate why the panther would pause there.

The first thing she saw was the crimson pool, glistening softly in the moonlight. And then she saw the source of the liquid. Harry, soaking in his own blood, with his chest just barely moving. And yet, strangely, though his arms seemed to be the source of the blood, she saw no wounds.

The mystery could wait. Harry needed medical attention, and he needed it now. She levitated his body and headed back to the castle.

Tom let out a sigh of relief. Harry would be all right. He resumed his normal form and apparated back to Slytherin Manor.

Once home, he found that he suddenly had to get out of his blood-soaked robes, and to wash away the blood from his skin. That was somewhat odd. While he enjoyed being clean as much as the next person, blood had never especially bothered him before.

But this was Harry's blood.

And he had almost lost Harry that night.

Why was that thought so disturbing to him?

He had almost lost his Horcrux, Tom supposed. But the thought of his soul piece entrenched within Harry's scar had not even entered his head until this very moment. That wasn't the source of his distress. He hadn't even considered it.

He'd thought about Harry before he thought about himself.

That wasn't like him. He was the Dark Lord Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Darkest wizard since Mordred himself. He never thought of others because others did not concern him. He felt nothing for them.

And yet he'd thought of Harry.

A startling, earth-shattering revelation swept over him. He, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was utterly, completely, and irrevocably in love with Harry Potter.

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When Harry regained consciousness, he didn't know whether or not to be disappointed. He'd thought that maybe, just maybe, he would get to see his parents again. And Sirius. And even Dumbledore.

But he might not want to hear what they have to say. After everything he'd done, it was probably for the best that he didn't have to face his parental figures just yet.

Who he did have to face, however, was Hermione.

She didn't offer a single word of reproach. She hugged him, and told him she loved him, and that she hoped he would talk to her when he was ready. But she didn't have to say it. It was all too clear in her eyes. Her soft brown doe-like eyes were constantly on the verge of tears, and he could hear the accusation in them just as easily as if it had come from her lips. "How could you do this to me?"

Ron and Ginny came to see him too, along with his other housemates. But there was only one person he really wanted to talk to at that moment. There was an answer that he had come to realize that he desperately needed.

It wasn't going to be easy. He was, understandably, being watched all the time. There was a ward cast over the door that notified Madame Pomfrey whenever anyone left the Hospital Wing. Hermione had his map and his Invisibility Cloak.

"What are you still doing in the Hospital Wing?" a soft female voice said. It was Luna Lovegood. "Salazar would really like to see for himself that you're all right."

"Would he really?" Harry spat, not even bothering to wonder how the girl would know this. "He wanted me dead all along, just as much as Voldemort ever did. They probably had a good laugh about it. Ha bloody ha!"

Luna sighed. "Harry, have you ever heard of the Belskold Tower?"

Harry almost growled. "Luna, I'm not interested in your riddles today."

Luna continued as if he hadn't spoken. "The East half of it is made of brick. The West half is made of marble. But the truly interesting thing about it is this: whatever side you are standing on is the only side you can see. If you stand on the East side, the whole building appears to be brick. If you stand on the West, it appears to be all marble."

Harry didn't reply. He was trying to pretend that he wasn't listening.

Luna sighed again, more heavily this time. "Given the circumstances, I suppose I can give you this one: If you only ever looked at the East, you would think the Tower was just brick. But that wouldn't be true. Until you go and look for it, you can never really know what the other side is."

Harry was overcome with a sudden realization. "I thought you didn't believe in spoon-feeding answers," he snarled. "After all, how will I _learn_?"

The spirit in the form of Luna Lovegood just stared serenely at him. "Today, I am not the one you need to learn from," she replied. "Run along now."

Harry started to get up, and then remembered his initial dilemma. "What about Madame Pom—oh." The Matron, who had been sitting at her desk near the entrance and glancing at him at least once every thirty seconds, had suddenly fallen asleep.

"There's also a ward, you know, over the doorway," Harry mumbled as he got out of bed.

Luna frowned at him. "Why would a phoenix use a door?"

"It wouldn't. It can travel where it needs to go by—ooooohhhh." Harry understood. Before leaving, he grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill and penned a short note: "I'm okay and I'll be back soon. I just had to talk to someone. –H." Then he built a mental picture of the Chamber and whispered "§enter.§"


End file.
